


Survivor: Not Amestris

by the_musical_alchemist



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Survivor (TV 2000)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 148,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_musical_alchemist/pseuds/the_musical_alchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 castaways. Two tribes. Who will outwit, outplay, and outlast? Who will be voted off the island? And which of these 16 FMA characters will be the sole survivor? </p><p>Silly, poorly written crack/parody where the characters of Fullmetal Alchemist are on the reality TV show Survivor. You don't need prior knowledge of the latter to read, though, I wouldn't recommend this unless you're familiar with FMA. Spoilers for it are inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1 (part 1)

The sixteen castaways can hear nothing over the propellor chopping through the wind. Edward Elric stares out the window of the helicopter, marveling at the expanse of the island as they draw closer toward the ground. Turquoise waves lick the rocky shore, glittering from the sunlight’s kiss. He’d never seen anything quite so blue. Probably because Amestris is landlocked and his fictional continent doesn’t grant much in the aesthetic department.

Beside him, Roy Mustang has tensed, taking in the massive body of water with a wary gaze. When he agreed to be on this reality show, no one ever said there would be so much water involved. The humidity percentage must be off the charts. No way he’ll be able to create a spark in a place like this.

Due to his distress, Olivier Armstrong begins to cackle, crossing her ankle over her knee, looking out at their new home for the next thirty days.

In the helicopter flying parallel to them, Fuhrer Bradley growls irritably as wind pressure beats against his eyepatch, pushing it askew.

“Mrergh,” he mrerghs unhappily.

The image makes Winry Rockbell suppress a chuckle.

 _He’s normally so scary_ , she thinks.  _But right now, he’s just like us._

“Once we land,” he grumbles, yanking his eyepatch back into place, “I am going to lacerate this machine and end the lives of everyone responsible for its construction and manufacturing.”

Winry blanches and thinks,  _Never mind. Never mind. Oh my god. Never mind._

Both helicopters, alongside two others, land moments later. The castaways are led outside, onto the sandy shore of...whatever country this is.

A tall man with dark hair and award-winning dimples greets them. He waves his hand over his head and says, “Welcome!”

The castaways look around, sizing their competitors up. All except Alphonse Elric whose gaze has fixed on a baby bird that has perched on his armored foot.

Olivier’s eyes gloss over Alex Armstrong and she sneers, crossing her arms. “I didn’t realize we were allowing cowards on the island.”

If he’s wounded by the statement, he doesn’t show it. He merely extends his enormous arms with affection. “My dear sister--”

“You will all have time to converse later,” interrupts the dimpled guy. He smiles, setting his hands on his hips. “For now, let’s get to the game. Because we only have one hour per episode--forty, really, due to commercials--and we need to make sure we get all the first-day stuff into this one.”

“Episode?” Lan Fan whispers in question. She nudges Ling Yao beside her. “My lord, what is an ‘episode’?”

“For the  _thousandth time_ , I’m Greed,” he says with an eyeroll.

“Anyway!” the man says, somewhat miffed by the continuing conversation when this is supposed to be his moment to shine. “My name is Jeff Probst. I was hired by CBS decades ago and I made a blood oath to be the host of Survivor until the day I die. So today, I welcome you...to  _Survivor: Not Amestris_.”

“Not?” asks Jean Havoc, bouncing on his heels. Without his smokes, he’s beginning to grow agitated. Rebecca Catalina shoots him a chiding glance that he ignores.

“Well, yeah.” Jeff Probst shrugs. “Your country is landlocked, so no island. We literally just dumped you guys closest to the nearest body of water we could find.”

“Is that safe?” asks Riza Hawkeye with somewhat of a worried look.

Again, Jeff Probst shrugs. “The hell if I know. We’re not getting paid for this season, so we didn’t have the budget to get a crew out here to survey the area.” He nods at the ocean. “For all we know, the loch ness monster can be living under there.”

“What if one of us is attacked by a poisonous bug?” Winry asks.

“Well, then you’re shit out of luck,” says Jeff Probst. “We couldn’t afford paramedics this season either. In fact, the camera crew was literally plucked off the street. Weren’t you, guys?”

A stark-white dude with ink black hair waves tiredly from behind his camera. He wears a tattered Amestrian military uniform.

Solf J. Kimblee narrows his eyes. “Wait...is that-- _Archer_?”

Olivier and Lan Fan exchange a confounded look. Riza, on the other hand, gapes in astonishment.

“Archer?” she repeats. “As in the Archer I shot?  _To death_?”

“Long time no see, Hawkeye,” he says with dead eyes. “You too, Kimblee. I see you’ve exchanged the mullet for a white hat. It suits you.”

“Who the hell is Archer?” Greedling murmurs to Roy who continues to stare, aghast, at the former officer.

“Uh,” Roy shakes himself out of his stupor. “Wow. Okay. Archer was one of the corrupt soldiers in the original Fullmetal Alchemist. He shot my past-self’s eye clean out of my head and the Lieutenant took him down in her fury.”

“It wasn’t so much fury,” says Riza from across the assemblage. “He was literally a robo-soldier and a danger to society.”

“She was crippled by grief,” Roy continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “As I, the love of her life, lay dying in a pool of my own blood--”

“I shot him before I found you, sir.”

“And afterwards, she wept over my cold body--”

“You were  _alive_.”

“Screaming to the heavens,  _‘Dammit, Roy Mustang--’_ ”

“You are taking this way out of context. I did not ‘scream to the heavens’--”

Roy nudges Greedling with an exhausted sigh. “And you should have seen her after Lust--”

“For the love of God!” Jeff Probst exclaims. “We have forty minutes and this chitchat has just reduced it to thirty four. Yes, the technical crew consists of forgotten characters we plucked out the the original Fullmetal Alchemist universe. The gaffer is Wrath and Chimera!Tucker is on camera number two.”

The two nod from their respective locations, and the castaways stare in shock. Izumi Curtis fights the urge to vomit blood at the sight of her past-self’s son. But she keeps her composure and stares dead into Jeff Probst’s eyes.

“Tell us, Jeff Probst,” she says, widening her legs in a stiff stance, “what is the objective of this game? How do we play?”

“She gets straight to the point, I like her,” he says decidedly. “Okay, you’re going to be separated into two tribes and go set up camp. Later, you’ll have your first immunity challenge and the losing tribe will go to tribal council where one of you will be voted off. This process repeats until we’ve narrowed down to half the players we have now, whereupon, we will merge and the challenges will be for individual immunity.”

“The brochure said there would be reward challenges too,” says May Chang with a frown.

“Ah, yes!” Jeff says. “Reward challenges! Occasionally, we sprinkle those in where we treat the winners with lavish prizes, often including food, comfort, and entertainment.”

Scar glares at him. “So we have budget for opulent rewards, but not for paramedics? Or a cameraman whose head is rightside up?”

“I have feelings, you know,” whispers Chimera!Tucker.

“Listen, Red Eyes Black Dragon,” says Jeff Probst with a dismissive wave, “here on CBS, we have priorities.”

“We could  _die_  out here!” Winry exclaims.

Jeff Probst raises his palms. “Not my problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to my luxurious 5-Star hotel suite off the island. I’ll be back for the immunity challenge. Let me know how everything goes. Your tribe bandanas are in that basket over there by our prop guy, Maes Hughes.”

Everyone looks at the basket that stands to their left. Roy’s neck nearly snaps from how quickly he jerks his head.

“Uh...there’s no one there,” says Ed, raising an eyebrow.

That’s when the bandanas float out of the basket, followed by a disembodied, “INCOMING!” The castaways are pelted by flying bandanas.

“I forgot to mention, our prop guy is a ghost!” yells Jeff Probst as he hops into a yacht that materialized quite literally out of nowhere. The yacht zooms away as he yells, “GOOD LUCK!”

When the bandana storm has passed, the sixteen castaways are separated into two tribes, as per the colors they are now sporting.

The red bandanas are worn by Ed, Kimblee, Roy, Olivier, Lan Fan, Rebecca, Scar and May.

The opposite tribe, with their yellow bandanas, consists of Alphonse, Hawkeye, Winry, Havoc, Izumi, Bradley, Greedling, and Alex.

“Brother!” Alphonse cries. “We’re not on the same team!”

“Wait,” Olivier’s eyes widen in horror. “ _Roy Mustang_? I have to live on the same campsite as  _Roy Mustang_?”

“My lord!” Lan Fan grabs May Chang by the sleeve and demands, “Switch colors with him!”

“That’s against the rules!” Wrath the Gaffer interjects.

“Shut up!” Roy yells. He looks over at Riza helplessly. “Lieutenant…”

From the water comes a guttural sound, followed by an explosion of bubbles. The bickering ceases at once and everyone stares at one another in terror. Except for Alphonse who has no expression and Olivier who is afraid of absolutely nothing.

“...maybe we should go to our camps,” says Havoc.

“Yeah, I second that.” Kimblee makes a face. “In as much as I’d love for you all to die, I’d much rather it be in a  _blaze of glory_ , if you know what I mean.”

“With more of a fight,” Bradley adds, and the two share a meaningful smirk. Alphonse makes an uneasy sound that echoes through his armor.

On that note, the two tribes set out.

* * *

* * *

 

## RED TRIBE // CAMP

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Uh...excuse me!” Ed growls, craning his neck. The only part of him that’s in frame is the blond piece of hair that stands in between his bangs.

“Sorry about that, Edward,” Chimera!Tucker whispers, tilting the camera down so it catches his bust.

Ed crosses his arms and looks away in disgust. “Yeah, whatever. Anyway. So Al and I are on opposite tribes, which sucks almost as much as being on the same tribe as the guy who had me impaled does. If it were up to me, I’d throw the first immunity challenge just to get that explosive-happy bastard off the island.” 

* * *

Even though using alchemy at camp is forbidden, everyone still cringes every time Kimblee so much as brings his tattooed palms within a few inches of each other.

“That guy is a loose canon,” Ed murmurs to Lan Fan, who is, by default, his best friend on the tribe. Solely because it’s either her or Colonel Hothead as Olivier still terrifies him and May has formed an alliance with Scar. And there’s no way in  _hell_ , Ed is going to side with him. The impending Promised Day, that’s one thing. But here, when there’s money and glory at stake? Fuck that.

“Worry not,” Lan Fan says in the low murmur she has reserved for whenever she’s about to do something particularly elusive. “Tonight, as he sleeps, I will cut his throat.”

“Hey, hey!” Ed exclaims, raising his hands. “No, okay. We’re  _not_  killing anybody. Besides, I’m pretty sure that violates at least ten FCC rules.”

Elsewhere, Roy and Rebecca scour the jungle for anything they can use as firewood. Roy, with an armload of dried sticks, sighs.

“One transmutation, and I could have set this entire place ablaze,” he says.

“God, Riza wasn’t kidding!” Rebecca says loudly, throwing a branch over her shoulder. “You really are useless whenever you can’t use your special gloves.”

Roy’s face falls and he deflates completely. “Hawkeye really said that about me?”

 

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Rebecca Catalina**

Rebecca giggles with a shake of her head. “Mustang is so distraught without alchemy. It’s like he doesn’t even know how to be a functioning human without it.” She grins devilishly. “So I’ve decided to have a little fun and mess with his head.”

* * *

 

“Oops!” Rebecca says, covering her mouth. “I’ve said too much!”

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Rebecca Catalina**

Rebecca stares into the camera shamelessly. “Riza never said anything about him. But I’ll make him squirm if it means making him an easier target in the future.”

* * *

Over at camp, Olivier has tied a bandana across her forehead and stands at the shore with a stick she has sharpened into a spear using her teeth and sheer badassery. With a yell, she hurls it into the water and when she pulls it out, she’s skewered at least five fish at once. They writhe and twitch futilely.

“Haha!” she guffaws. “That is the Briggs way to hunt!”

A few feet away, May Chang is weaving a roof out of twigs and leaves. Scar has set to work, building the foundation of their shelter. He stares at Olivier and shudders.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Scar**

Scar frowns deeply at the camera as he speaks. “General Armstrong is a fierce Amestrian. A good asset to our team. Unfortunately, she is often overtaken by her own strength and tenacity. I fear she may not be a good team player, as evidenced by her refusal to partake in group activities. And her blatant disregard for most of our tribemates.”

* * *

 

“I shall name you Roy Mustang, fish,” Olivier says, prodding the impaled, bleeding creature with her finger.

Ed happens to walk by at that very moment, and he quickly looks away, muttering, “I’d hate to be on her bad side.”

“Are you two friends?” Lan Fan asks, glancing over at the woman as she guts Roy Mustang the Fish with a sinister grin.

Ed responds with a noncommittal hand wobble. “She doesn’t loathe me, which is as close to friends as I think the General will get to anybody.”

“I suppose that is good, then,” she says, and looks down sorrowfully. “We need friends if we are to make it to the merge.”

Ed sees that she’s visibly upset, but comforting people has never exactly been his forte. Still, he offers her a sincere smile and claps her shoulder. “Hey, Lan Fan.” She looks up, her dark eyes going wide. “If we work together, we’ll make it to the merge. You’ll be reunited with Ling and I’ll get to see Al again. But first…” Ed looks at the rest of their tribe, and Lan Fan follows his gaze. He sighs. “First, we have to make it through tonight.”

* * *

* * *

 

## YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP

 

“Hey, Al,” Winry says.  He has set to picking bananas off the trees nobody else is tall enough to reach. He lets a few drop into his hollow suit before moving on to the next tree. They strike the inside of him with a series of  _clanks_.

“Yeah?” he says.

“You and me...we have an alliance, right?” she asks, her gaze sweeping their area to ensure nobody hears.

A tiny laugh escapes the suit of armor. His stance relaxes some, as if he were sighing in relief. “Of course, Winry.”

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Winry Rockbell**

Winry looks positively radiant with the confessional’s tropical backdrop. She smiles softly and says, “I can’t help but feel relieved that Al and I are in this together. Not that Miss Izumi and the soldiers don’t seem nice too. But it’s just great to be able to  _know_  somebody here. The closest thing I have to a friend outside him is Miss Riza. And there’s no casual way to go up to a person and say, ‘Hey, you lowkey inspired me to punch six holes into my head.’”

* * *

 

Alphonse and Winry walk a little further and see that Hawkeye and Havoc are perched on elevated ground with makeshift bows and arrows they’ve fashioned out of sticks.

Riza closes one eye for focus and let’s her arrow fly. It disappears into the clouds, which makes Havoc sigh in defeat.

“Wait for it,” Riza murmurs, maintaining her fierce gaze. Moments later, an enormous bird hurtles from the sky and smacks against the ground with Riza’s arrow protruding from its eye.

Havoc springs to his feet in perplexity. “How the hell did you even see that?” he demands. “That was way out of our line of sight!”

Riza lowers her bow slowly, staring straight into the sun. “I am the Hawk’s Eye. I see all.”

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Winry Rockbell**

Nervously, Winry gulps. “Miss Riza also scares me...a lot.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Fuhrer Bradley managed to build an elaborate shelter complete with walls, rooms, doors, and a latrine, all within ten minutes. Izumi, Greed, and Armstrong stare speechlessly.

“Continue to gawk if you please,” Bradley says, as he climbs the porch steps he made from seashells and tree bark. “But none of you are allowed to enter my castle.” With that, he slams his leaf-woven door shut.

The others stare at one another, agape. Finally, Greed’s hands ball into fists. He snarls at the environmentally friendly palace before stomping away.

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Greed**

“He thinks he can just _kick us out of his palace_ ,” Greed sneers, crossing his arms. He flips Ling’s long hair over his shoulder with a flick of his head. “Well, he doesn’t know who he’s messing with. This island is mine. Everything on it. The tribe is mine. The shelter is mine. Wrath is mine. Even you, 03 soldier, belong to me.”

Behind the camera, Archer frowns.

“If he wants to play, fine, I’ll play.” Greed leans forward, tilting his head with a toothy grin. “Let’s play, Wrath."

* * *

* * *

 

## \\\ IMMUNITY CHALLENGE \\\

 

Both tribes rejoin Jeff Probst near a different shore on the same island. Lan Fan lights up the moment Greedling comes into view. Similarly, Ed waves at Al, who waves back excitedly.

“Brother!” he cheers.

“Quiet!” Greed hisses, elbowing Alphonse forcefully with a  _thunk_. “He’s on the enemy team!”

“Looks like the Colonel is all right,” Riza says with a slow exhale. She’ll never admit it, but she worried about him in all the time they were apart. After all, with so much water, he was practically a vegetable for all the use he was. Like,  _Sacred Star of Milos_  levels of useless.

“How are you all holding up!?” Jeff Probst asks the tribes.

“Havoc was bitten by a venomous snake and Major Armstrong had to suck the poison before he started foaming at the mouth,” Riza says with a glare that could probably cut through steel.

“‘Tis true!” Armstrong bellows, bringing his arms up over his head as his shirt tears off. Roses bloom by his feet as he twirls, and sparkles twinkle around his face. “As Lieutenant Havoc faced his untimely demise, I performed a poison-extraction that’s been passed down the Armstrong family for generations!”

“Was he, now?” Bradley asks. He looks away with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“He spent the entire night crying,” says Izumi. “There’s no way you didn’t hear.”

“My castle’s walls are soundproof,” he replies and Greed whirls on him, boiling with rage.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, his voice dripping with bitterness. “I’ll  _bet_  it is!”

 _Hey, now. Calm down,_  says Ling inside Greed’s mind. And Greed obliges only because Jeff Probst is looking at him with deep concern. Greed looks down and mutters, “Yeah, whatever.”

“O...kay,” Jeff Probst says slowly. He shakes his head and claps his hands together. “Anyway! Your immunity challenge goes as followed!”

He gestures behind him, where there are two dangling nets filled with red and yellow wooden planks, respectively. Adjacent to each is a board with vertically ascending painted up the middle.

“You will each take a turn in tossing balls at the numbers,” Jeff explains, nodding at two baskets, courtesy of Maes Hughes’s ghost, that sit before the boards. “With each turn, you will move farther back and have to aim higher. Each time you hit a number, a plank of wood falls out of the net. Once you’ve hit all the numbers, you will make a canoe out of the planks given to you. Then your tribe will canoe out into the ocean and race for that flag,” Jeff Probst points to the ocean where an orange flag ripples through the air in the distance. 

“Shouldn’t be so hard,” says Ed, winding up his throwing arm.

“Also!” Jeff Probst adds, “Some balls are filled with paint and others with sand and there is no way to know until it breaks against your board. If you hit it with a sand ball, you have to surrender a piece of your canoe. If you have zero pieces when you hit a sand ball, you will have negative pieces.”

“That’s bullshit!” Ed yells.

Jeff Probst shrugs as if to say,  _Sorry, bitch._

“Survivors ready!?” he yells, and everyone hastily scrambles into position. All those in the Red Tribe immediately push Ed to the front of the line.

“Hey!” he shouts. “What the hell--”

“Sorry, Fullmetal!” Roy says. “You’re short and a liability. We can’t risk you throwing from a far distance.”

“You bastard!” Ed spits. “I’ll show you--”

“GOOOOOO!” Jeff Probst yells, throwing his hands forward and jumping out of the way. Ed glances at the Yellow Tribe where Havoc leads. The challenge begins, and he and the Second Lieutenant break into a sprint.

_....to be continued_


	2. Episode 1 (Part 2)

Jean Havoc races to the basket and rummages for what he hopes will be a paint-filled ball.

“Come on, Ghost-Hughes,” he murmurs, closing his fingers around one. “Don’t let me down.”

“ _You can do it, Havoc_ ,” says Hughes’s disembodied voice. Havoc responds with a determined nod.

He hurls his ball at the board at full strength. It explodes against the number 1 with a splat, green paint dripping in its wake. He pumps his fist in victory. The Yellow Tribe cheers.

“Lieutenant Havoc, that was most extraordinary!” Armstrong sings, flexing his biceps.

“GO, HAVOC!” Riza shouts fiercely, clapping her hands like a diabolical soccer mom who takes each game far too seriously.

He sprints back and taps Winry to follow, then grabs the canoe piece that hits the sand with a  _thud_.

Meanwhile, with the Red Tribe, Ed has just destroyed a ball of purple paint and is waving May forward to take her turn.

“I sense a certain chi in the sand-filled balls,” she says to herself, groping the pile until she finds a ball she’s pleased with. She pulls it out and smiles, then throws it with the same method she would her knives. Orange paint pours from where her target was struck. She bounces in delight, running back, tapping Scar who races to the basket, grabs a ball, and throws. It explodes in a puff of sand.

“Impossible!” he shouts.

“RED TRIBE, RELINQUISH ONE OF YOUR PIECES!” Jeff Probst yells from the beach chair he’s unfolded on the sidelines. One of the Elric Impersonators from 03 holds a coconut with an inserted bendy straw to Jeff Probst’s lips. He takes a languid sip. To his left, an inexplicably alive Dante fans him with a large leaf.

“God dammit!” Ed kicks the sand with his automail leg. A huge cloud of dust follows and the entire tribe erupts into a coughing fit.

“MY EYES!” Roy cries out, rubbing them furiously. He whirls on Ed with a scorching glare. “You could have blinded me, Fullmetal!”

Over with the Yellow Tribe, Izumi Curtis lobs a ball at her target with a howl. The impact is so substantial that not only does blue paint splatter and soak into the sand, but a dent the size of Major Armstrong’s fist splinters the board.

“Go, Teacher!” Alphonse exclaims.

Next up, Greed throws a ball toward the middle and it turns out to be a sand decoy. He falls to his knees with a wail of agony.

 _Greed, get up!_ Ling scolds inside his mind.  _Your friends are counting on you!_

“They’re not my friends, they’re my henchmen!” Greed growls, clambering to his feet. He kicks the sand and storms off, slapping Alphonse’s armor to let him know it’s his turn.

“Yeeeeeellow Tribe!” Jeff Probst calls.

“We know!” Greed yells, hauling the canoe piece off the sand and tossing it away. Alphonse makes a sand ball and anxiously pivots.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts, bringing his hands to his armored head in distress. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright, Alphonse!” Riza claps her hands again and bounces on her heels. “Just keep moving! We can do this!”

On the Red Team, it’s Roy’s turn to throw and Bradley watches him from the corner of his good eye. Without warning, he grabs Riza by the throat and tackles her to the sand. Winry lets out a shriek.

Roy’s head jerks their way and his body goes cold.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kimblee demands. “THROW THE BALL, MUSTANG!”

Roy drops his ball at once and screams, “Lieutenant!” He scrambles that way, but Scar grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him down. Roy hits the sand breathlessly.

Armstrong makes a paint ball and the Yellow Tribe is able to reclaim one of their pieces. Bradley releases the Lieutenant and rises.

Riza rolls over, wheezing. She glowers at Bradley through watery eyes and brings a hand to her aching neck. “What the  _hell_  was that for?” she gasps.

Bradley shrugs dispassionately. “You’re his weakness.” He nudges Riza’s body with his foot. “Get up, Lieutenant. It’s your turn.”

Roy scrambles to his feet and grabs the fallen ball. From the basket, ghost-Hughes says, “ _That ball is filled with sand, Roy. You should take another one._ ”

Roy doesn’t get the opportunity to dwell on the fact that his dead best friend is using a straw basket as a means of communication because Riza has already set to throwing her ball. She sways a bit on her feet from the lack of oxygen in her brain, but as expected The Hawk’s Eye does not miss. Her teammates cheer. Havoc throws his arms in the air and hoots, “THAT’S HOW WE DO IT IN EASTERN COMMAND!”

“ _MUSTANG_!” Kimblee hollers. The vein in his forehead begins to twitch.

“Come on, Useless Colonel!” Ed shrieks, jumping up and down. “Throw the damn thing already!”

“Worthless, as expected,” Olivier sneers.

Roy drops his bum ball into the basket and hastily grabs a new one. Basket Hughes says, “ _Nice choice_!”

Roy throws it and it hits its mark in a splatter of red. He runs to tap Olivier who throws, hits, and gets them a canoe piece all within the span of six seconds.

Kimblee is next and takes far too much delight in watching the paintball explode. He claps his hands in glee and everyone, including Jeff Probst, shouts, “KIMBLEE, NO!”

But nothing happens. Everyone settles back in relief.

“Sorry,” Ed says, rolling his eyes. “Habit, you know.”

Rebecca Catalina puts her sniping talents to good use, aiming for one of the higher numbers and nailing it--except, it comes apart as a sand ball. The team groans collectively.

A few turns later, Fuhrer Bradley hits the final mark for the Yellow Tribe and they immediately run to put their canoe together.

“Red Tribe, you’re falling way behind!” Jeff Probst notes.

“WE KNOW!” Ed screams as Lan Fan throws a sand ball. Ed swears loudly.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“You should be,” says Olivier. “That throw was reprehensible.”

By the Yellow Tribe, Fuhrer Bradley says, “Move aside. I will assemble the boat.”

“But, sir!” Armstrong says, aghast, “this challenge is meant to test our cohesion as a singular unit!”

In the time it took Armstrong to say this, however, Bradley finished putting together the canoe. The Red Tribe is so pitifully behind, Yellow can afford their moment of dazed astonishment.

“In the boat,” Bradley commands. The tribe follows his orders and he pushes it out to sea, then hops in.

“I like this boat,” Greed says thoughtfully, running his hand over the outside. He ponders for a moment, then declares, “I’ll be taking it.”

“This canoe is property of CBS,” says Izumi.

“I’ll be taking CBS too.” Greed laces his fingers behind his head and props his feet on a horrified Havoc’s lap.

As the boat approaches the flag, Alphonse reaches out and takes it. He waves it excitedly over his head.

“Yellow Tribe wins immunity!” Jeff Probst declares. He snaps his fingers and Dante drops her leaf, leaving to fetch the immunity idol from off-screen. She returns with a stick adorned with a coil of strung seashells.

Olivier kicks the basket with all her might and it falls over. Ghost Hughes makes a protesting sound as it hits the sand and its balls pour out.

When the Yellow Tribe makes it back, Jeff Probst presents them with the idol. Greed takes it, well, greedily, and holds it up.

“Tonight,” says Jeff Probst as the Yellow Tribe celebrates their victory and their opponents wallow in defeat, “the Yellow Tribe is safe. Red Tribe, you will be going to Tribal Council where you must vote one of your tribe members off the island. You’ll have the next few hours to deliberate.”

Olivier’s eyes bore into Roy so blisteringly, their tribe mates almost consider dubbing her the Flame Alchemist.

“YEL-LOW! YEL-LOW! YEL-LOW!” Al and Winry chant. Havoc and Hawkeye share a tired fist bump. Izumi and Armstrong smile fondly at one another. Greed cradles the immunity idol as if it’s not just a stick Jeff Probst found lying in the jungle five minutes before the challenge started. Bradley watches the Red Tribe with intent focus, narrowing his eyes.

Jeff Probst hops into a private jet that somehow appeared between one moment and the next. With that, the tribes return to camp.

* * *

 

## RED TRIBE // CAMP

Mustang is fucked. Royally fucked. And he knows it when his tribe returns to camp. The tension is palpable enough to stick a knife through it. Everywhere he goes, his teammates’ hot eyes follow.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Roy exhales a long, tired sigh and looks into the camera. “So we lost the challenge. Arguably because of me.” He lets his arms fall to his sides. “But,  _come on_ , Yellow had two homunculi, the Strong Arm Alchemist, Izumi Curtis, a quasi-immortal suit of armor, and the Hawk’s Eye on their team! You tell me that was a fair game!”

* * *

Roy slips away to gather more firewood as he contemplates what he’s going to do. But then it starts to rain. Because of course it does.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Look,” Roy says, “The winner of this gets two million cenz and the title of sole survivor. Imagine how easy it’s going to be for me to become Fuhrer with that kind of cred. I  _need_  to win this. For Amestris.”

* * *

“Someone should find Mustang,” says Ed. Beneath their leaf-woven shelter, he, May, Lan Fan, Scar and Rebecca remain dry. Elsewhere, Olivier is climbing trees to bring bananas back to their campsite. They’re not entirely sure where Kimblee went, though, his maniacal laughter trickles faintly in between the sound of rain beating against the top of their shelter.

“Who cares about him?” Rebecca grumbles, rubbing over her goosefleshed arms.

May shivers and Scar drapes his bandana over her shoulders as an offering of warmth.

“Thank you, Mr. Scar,” she says softly.

He does not answer, only stares forward as if she hadn’t been talking to him at all. Because Scar is not about to tarnish his unofficial reputation as the tribe tsundere.

“Well, it’s raining,” Ed says with a shiver. CBS burned his red coat before he boarded the helicopter, saying they’d have to pay copyright fees up the ass unless they blurred the Flamel symbol stitched on the back. Ultimately, they decided destroying the garment entirely was more economic. Because fire is free.

“And?” Rebecca asks.

“And he’ll probably die out there. Last time anyone let the Colonel out on his own when it rained, he almost got his brain blown to bits!” says Ed.

“Still not sorry about that,” Scar grumbles.

“Anyway, Mustang isn’t anything but a hindrance.” Rebecca casts a glance over her shoulder make sure he isn’t lurking nearby. She beckons the others closer and when they lean in, she says, “I say we vote his ass off the island.”

“Hmm,” says Scar.

May and Lan Fan nod in agreement.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I don’t know,” Ed says warily. “On one hand, the Colonel is even more useless on the island than he was in the  _Sacred Star of Milos movie_.” He looks away ponderously. “I just feel like voting him off now is kind of a waste.”

* * *

“We may have lost the immunity challenge,” Ed tells his tribe mates, “but let’s think of this Tribal Council as an opportunity.”

“For?” Rebecca demands, growing agitated the longer this conversation extends. Why can’t they just vote the son of a bitch off and be done with it?

“Think about it,” Ed says. “Yeah, the Colonel is a know-it-all bastard and we can all agree that he’s insufferable. But is he really worse than Kimblee?”

They all fall silent, and Kimblee’s muffled laughter echoes in the distance. Everyone but Scar shudders in unison.

“You’re right,” May says, bringing her thumb to her lips. “Roy Mustang is a liability, but only in selective circumstances. Kimblee, on the other hand, doesn’t offer anything noteworthy in terms of physical strength. And here on camp, he’s plain annoying.”

“Think of it as trimming the fat off our tribe,” Ed says.

“But say Mustang makes it to the merge,” Lan Fan offers. “He’s going to have more allies than Kimblee on the other tribe.”

Rebecca’s eyes ignite with realization. “That’s true!” she says. “He has Riza and Jean! Kimblee’s hated by everybody. Keeping Mustang around is way more dangerous.”

“Al’s also pretty fond of him, for reasons unknown,” Ed adds. “And don’t forget about Armstrong. We’re basically giving Mustang power on a silver platter if we risk keeping him around.”

“So who do we vote for tonight?” asks May.

That is the question.

 

Sopping wet, Roy makes his way back to camp. He’s decided there is no way in hell he’s getting voted off tonight. He’s Roy Mustang, for fuck’s sake. The slimiest snake in the Amestrian military. If anyone can manipulate and connive their way to the top, it’s him.

He knows the most efficient way of getting what you want is breaking through your barrier’s weak point and spreading like a virus from there. And from personal experience, he knows that to break the weak, one must tempt them with that which they desire most.

When the rain passes, Roy finds Lan Fan sparring with a tree.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Lan Fan is stoic, cold, and unwaveringly loyal,” Roy says. “You would think someone like her is unbreakable. And to most, perhaps she is.” He rests his chin on laced fingers. “But I’m not most. I know her type. I know it  _well_.”

* * *

“Hello,” Roy says, sidling up against the tree.

Lan Fan never breaks focus. With a yell, she kicks a branch in half.

He sighs theatrically, looking boredly at his fingernails. “That Xingese prince sure can throw, huh?”

Lan Fan is on him so quickly, Roy doesn’t even get the chance to blink. She pins his wrists to the tree over his head, peering at him through slitted black eyes. Her automail fingers are especially tight, cutting off the circulation in Roy’s hand.

“What did you say about the young lord?” she demands.

With her face so close to his, Roy is overcome with the inclination to move away. But he stands his ground, smiling innocently instead.

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says coolly, “but Lieutenant Hawkeye and I have perfected the art of silent communication. You could say she and I share a similar bond to you and the prince.”

“Do not  _ever_  compare yourself to him!” she spits. “He is a noble man. You are nothing but a power-hungry parasite!”

“That may be true,” Roy acquiesces, opting not to feel insulted, “but the fact remains that I have eyes on the other tribe and so long as the prince’s body is a host for that homunculus, you have nothing but your good faith.”

Lan Fan’s grip loosens a fraction and Roy bites back a smirk.

“What are you saying?” she asks.

“It’s simple,” says Roy with a nod. “Be my ally. Hawkeye will keep me up to date on your prince as long as you keep me in the game.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then Hawkeye gets Havoc, Armstrong, and anyone else she can convince to vote him off.”

“And how do you know she’ll do it?” Lan Fan asks, though the sharpness in her words does not reach her unsteady eyes. Roy can tell she’s slipping right into the palm of his hand, and the feeling is euphoric.

“If it came to it,” Roy inquires, “wouldn’t you do the same for your prince?”

Lan Fan finally breaks his gaze and releases him. She clenches her fists against the tree, digging her knuckles into its bark.

 _Curses_ , she thinks.  _He’s right. He has me under his thumb and there isn’t anything I can do. The young lord’s livelihood is at stake_.

Sure, the Promised Day is forthcoming. And maybe Ling is currently a vessel for a physical manifestation of sin. But Lan Fan would not be able to live with herself if she didn’t ensure her prince’s victory in this reality television game. One thing is international affairs, immortality, and the literal end of the world. Another thing is two million Amestrian cenz.

The prince has always wanted a trampoline. With that much money, he can buy  _many trampolines._

With a heavy breath, Lan Fan looks back up at Roy Mustang’s stupid face. His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. It’s charming, she thinks. She hates him all the more for it.

“What’ll it be?” Roy asks.

* * *

 

Olivier, covered in dirt, twigs, and mud, dumps an armload of bananas at the campsite. Ed and the others watch.

“Eat up, tribe!” she commands. “Everyone is to eat except Mustang who can hunt for himself since he cost us immunity today.”

“You’re really going to let him starve?” May asks, grabbing bananas for herself and Scar. He accepts her offering in silence, but his lips twitch the moment she looks away.

Olivier scoffs. “Natural selection will weed out the weak. Let’s see how long the pansy lasts without his dogs.”

“We’re voting him out, right?” Kimblee asks, eating the banana straight through the peel like the savage that he is.

“Without a doubt,” says Olivier.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Solf J. Kimblee**

“I love the island,” Kimblee says, leaning back on the stump he sits on. “Reminds me of war. People at each others’ throats, despair as our resources grow scarce, a self-loathing Roy Mustang who can’t handle what he signed up for. Ah, yes. I’m home.”

* * *

Ed watches Kimblee, still unsure of where to place his vote. Damn, he hates this guy. Who even eats a banana that way? It’s not natural. And that he wears that white suit every single day and it never gets dirty? It’s the work of the Devil. It’s so hellish, Ed wants to reconsider his own atheism.

After dinner, when it gets dark, the tribe converges and heads to the tribal council area. On the way, Roy shoots Lan Fan a knowing glance to which she averts her eyes with a gulp. She still hasn’t decided whether or not it’s worth it. For all she knows, he could be lying about the Lieutenant.

 _What would grandfather say?_ she asks herself. And suddenly, she can hear Fu’s voice as if he’s with her right now.

 _Bullshit!_ conscience!Fu declares.  _Utter bullshit that I was not invited to compete! I would have wiped the floor with these simpletons._

Lan Fan closes her eyes, laying a gentle hand over her own heart.

* * *

 

## // TRIBAL COUNCIL //

Upon entering the official Tribal Council Hut, each member of the Red Tribe grabs a torch. They dip them into the enormous fire pit that blazes in the center. 

“In Survivor, fire represents life,” says Jeff Probst, who stands behind a podium. He waits until everyone is seated. With a nod, he says, “Welcome to your first tribal council.” He looks well rested and his skin glows in the low firelight. Almost as if--

“Did you get a facial before coming here?” Rebecca asks in disbelief.

Shamelessly, Jeff Probst smiles. “The Yellow Tribe’s reward for winning the challenge was supposed to be a spa day. But…”

“Of course,” Rebecca mutters. On one hand, she thinks, Yellow played dirty and deserve to marinate in their own filth because of it. But on the other...seriously, screw this guy.

“So, let’s talk about your first few days!” Jeff Probst prompts. “How did you guys feel when everyone was sorted into tribes? Any protests?”

“Real talk,” says Ed, who is undesirably sandwiched in between Scar and Kimblee on the bench. “I’m the protagonist. I mean, I’m the damn title character. It’s only natural that I be put on a tribe with people I can count on. But not only did CBS burn my coat and strip me of my allies, but they forced me on a tribe with these two,” he points his thumbs toward either side of him, to which Scar and Kimblee narrow their eyes, miffed if not entirely offended. Ed clenches his automail fist. “It’s crap. It’s clearly rigged.”

“Rigged?” asks Jeff Probst with raised eyebrows.

“I’m the main character,” Ed says, gripping the edge of the bench as his tone intensifies. “Of an anime, nevertheless. You guys are  _trying_  to give me as many obstacles as possible. You want to break me. Because having a dead mother, absent father, tragic past, and two missing limbs just  _wasn’t enough_.”

“Oh, please, Fullmetal,” Roy snorts. “You think  _you_  have it bad?”

Ed whirls around to face the Colonel who sits on the bench behind him. “Worse than you, useless bastard!”

“To that, I can agree.” Olivier crosses her legs and leans back. “Without his alchemy and subordinates, Mustang is reduced to a sniveling liability to our headway.”

“I found the firewood!” he interjects.

“You burned my country to the ground,” Scar mutters.

“You killed Winry’s parents!” Ed trills, jabbing Scar’s chest with his metal finger. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Jeff Probst laughs. “Well, now. There seems to be a lot of predisposed tension in this tribe.”

“Truly sad that none of us can get along,” Kimblee sighs.

“You shut up!” Ed barks. “You don’t know what I had to do to survive being impaled! I may be an anime protagonist, but not even that can save me after being skewered!”

“Cauterize your own lethal wound and kill an immortal being within the span of a few minutes and then maybe I’ll be impressed,” Roy says with an eyeroll.

Jeff Probst looks to May Chang and Lan Fan who have remained curiously silent throughout this entire exchange. May only shrugs.

“We’re not from this country,” she says simply. “We don’t care for their internal affairs. I just want immortality.”

“Same,” says Lan Fan.

“Let’s talk about that immunity challenge!” Jeff Probst says, diverting the conversation to something relevant that CBS will approve of. “You guys lost badly. What happened back there?”

“Roy Mustang,” chorus Olivier, Kimblee, Scar, and Rebecca.

Roy looks at his teammates, stung.

“He’s weak,” Rebecca says. “He’s easily distracted unless Riza’s around to kick his ass. He took way too long to throw and it cost us our challenge win.”

“He’s a contemptible teammate, a disgrace when we need him to perform, and an all around revolting excuse for a human being,” Olivier says.

“Well, don’t hold back,” Roy mutters.

“I couldn’t agree more,” says Scar, and Roy scowls.

“You guys forgot ‘coward,’” Kimblee adds, and everyone murmurs in agreement. Roy can do nothing but stare in alarm.

“When did this become a roast?” Roy demands.

“He smells,” May adds, shrugging when Roy’s glare flickers her way.

“We’re on an  _island_!” Roy retorts. “We all smell!”

Lan Fan says nothing, but keeps her gaze fixed on her lap. Finally, Jeff Probst steps away from his podium and says, “Okay. On that note, let’s get to the voting. Olivier, you’re up first.”

“With pleasure,” she says, rising to her feet. She follows the superfluously long walkway to the voting table and takes a pen and piece of parchment. Without a second thought, she writes  _Roy Fuckstang_  in a loopy script and holds it up to the camera.

“As if there was any doubt,” she says. Olivier folds her vote in half and sticks it in the pot that sits to her right.

Next up is Kimblee who scrawls a vote and puts it into the jar. When he returns, it’s Ed who follows.

Ed stares at the page before him for a very long time, tapping the end of the pen against his forehead. He makes a decision several minutes later and comes back, exhaling a long breath.

“May,” Jeff Probst prompts. She gets up and makes her way to the voting station. After a few seconds of contemplation, she writes a name and holds it up to the camera.

 _Kimblee_.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Mustang may have his shortcomings, but he doesn’t leave me half as unsettled. I only hope the rest of my tribe agrees.” She folds the note and puts it in the pot.

Roy is up next. He writes Kimblee’s name and holds it up.

“I want to say ‘no hard feelings,’’ Roy says, “but I actually do hate you even beyond this game. So seeing you eliminated would be satisfying in more ways than one…” he chews the inside of his lip. “Also, it’s obvious the vote is going to one of us tonight. And the only thing more pathetic than getting voted off of Survivor pre-merge, is getting voted off pre-merge  _before you_.”

He sticks his vote in the jar and returns to his seat. Lan Fan is next and she stays at the table for at least ten minutes, deliberating. At last, she returns with clenched fists.

Scar takes his turn, messily jotting down a name and holding it up. He frowns and says, “I will never forgive you for all that you’ve taken from me. Rot in hell, Amestrian.”

When he returns, Jeff Probts nods at the castaways and says, “I’ll tally the votes.”

He disappears to fetch the pot of votes. When he comes back, he places it on his podium and looks very seriously at the others.

“Once the votes are read, the decision is final,” says Jeff Probst. “The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately or we  _will_  release the hounds. Right, Tucker?”

“That’s right,” Chimera!Tucker whispers from behind the camera. “They’re waiting in the van.”

Ed blanches. The Red Tribe members all exchange horrified looks.

Jeff Probst nods. “I’ll read the votes.”

He pulls out a vote and unfolds the page. “First vote.” He turns the page around. “Roy.”

Roy takes a shaky breath, bouncing his heels in anticipation. Olivier smirks.

“Second vote.” Jeff pulls out the next and reveals it. “Roy. Two votes Roy.”

Rebecca and Olivier share an approving glance. Roy grits his teeth and forces himself to stare forward.

Jeff Probst pulls out another vote. In surprise, his eyebrows raise. “Kimblee.”

Kimblee casts a side glance at Roy, who is sure must be responsible. After all, he had to have voted for  _someone_ , right?

Jeff Probst pulls out another vote and chuckles a bit. He reveals it. “Kimblee. That’s two votes Roy, two votes Kimblee.”

Kimblee glowers at his tribe members, trying to pick out who the hell betrayed him. Roy’s heart begins to race. It’s getting close.

Jeff Probst reads another vote. “Roy,” he says, setting it down, and Roy tries not to react to the fact that someone wrote  _Roy Fuckstang_. Who could possibly think so little of him? Then he hears Olivier chuckle behind him. Roy simmers with annoyance.

“That’s three votes Roy, two votes Kimblee,” Jeff Probst says. Slowly, he reaches for the next vote. Kimblee tries to appear calm, but he’s beginning to sweat. Ed takes far too much satisfaction in the image. He looks down with a grin.

“Kimblee,” Jeff Probst reads. Roy’s heart accelerates. Could he actually have a chance?

“Three votes Roy, three votes Kimblee,” Jeff says. He takes out the next vote and reads. “Kimblee. We’re at four Kimblee, three Roy, and one vote left.”

Roy’s breathing quickens. He clasps his shaking hands together. Sweat beads his hairline. This is it. This is the moment he’s lived 29 years for. Suddenly, saving Amestris, overthrowing the government, becoming Fuhrer, even marrying Riza Hawkeye, seems trivial.  _This_  is what Roy was born for. To win Survivor.

Jeff Probst reads the final vote and declares, “First person voted off of  _Survivor: Not Amestris_.” He turns it over and everyone in the tribe tenses.

“Kimblee,” says Jeff Probst.

Roy lets out a huge sigh of relief. Kimblee looks as if he’d just been knocked in the skull with a bat. That totally came out of left field.

With a faraway look in his eyes, he grabs his torch and presents it to Jeff. Olivier’s eyes are stretched wide open, in fury, shock, and castigation for her tribe mates.

“Impossible,” she whispers.

“Bullshit,” Rebecca mutters.

“Kimblee,” says Jeff Probst. “The tribe has spoken.” He snuffs Kimblee’s flame and dismisses him. Kimblee departs, not looking back at his tribe mates.

___

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Solf J. Kimblee**

“Roy Mustang fucked us over,” Kimblee says. “But those stupid protagonists still resent me for, ‘committing mass genocide’ and ‘impaling the main character.’” He puts down his air quotes and sneers. “Whatever. This island is lame anyway. Nothing explodes.” He sticks up both middle fingers and shouts, “F*** YOU, CBS! F*** YOU, JEFF PROBST! AND F*** YOU, EDWARD ELRIC!”

___

Votes:  
Olivier: Roy Mustang  
Kimblee: Roy Mustang  
Ed: Solf J. Kimblee  
May: Solf J. Kimblee  
Rebecca: Roy Mustang  
Roy: Solf J. Kimblee  
Lan Fan: Solf J. Kimblee  
Scar: Solf J. Kimblee


	3. Episode 2

## RED TRIBE // CAMP

Rebecca and Olivier sit by the shore, still in disbelief over last night’s tribal council. The General digs her heels into the sand, watching sea foam push and pull over her toes with the tide.

Rebecca stares out to the horizon where a haze of sunlight stretches over the clear blue water. Strange to think just a few miles away, the Yellow Tribe still has no idea Kimblee was voted off the island. She wonders how Riza would react if she’d known how close the Colonel was to getting chopped.

“If you want to make it to the merge,” Rebecca says, “you’re going to need allies, General.”

Olivier snorts.

“I mean it,” she says. “Riza is my best friend. But she and Mustang have episodes upon episodes of will-they-won’t-they sexual frustration that I cannot compete with. When it comes down to the wire, she’ll choose him and I’ll get screwed unless I have allies of my own.”

Olivier looks momentarily puzzled. “What about Havoc?”

Rebecca laughs. “You think Havoc is making it to the merge? I saw him wheezing in between turns during that last immunity challenge. His shriveled lungs won’t last much longer.”

 _She’s right_ , Olivier thinks. She lets her hand drop to the sand. She looks back to Catalina and realizes they’re on the same sinking ship. Apart from each other, they have no one. But if they work together, perhaps they can build allies. Make it to the end. 

“All right, Lieutenant Catalina,” she says, holding out her hand. “We’ll be allies.”

“You can call me Rebecca,” she replies, taking her hand.

“Rebecca, then.” Olivier gives her hand a squeeze.

“Can I call you Olivier?”

“No.” She pulls her hand away and stands. “You will call me General.”

“But--”

“Let us hunt for tonight’s dinner, ally,” she says, already stalking away. “Perhaps we couldn’t vote Mustang off this time, but that doesn’t mean we can’t put sand in his food until the day of reckoning.”

“You mean the Promised Day?” Rebecca asks with wide eyes.

“No, even better. The day his useless ass is booted off.”

 

## YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Izumi Curtis**

“Outlast?” Izumi asks with an intrepid hair flip. “Puh! I can outlast! I survived Briggs in the winter for thirty days!”

* * *

 

Izumi stops shortly before Greed’s...whatever this is. He sits underneath a massive wooden board that’s somehow suspended by twigs and branches, and has set to digging what looks like a moat around it.

Izumi’s eyes widen. “Is that the target board from the immunity challenge?”

“What’s it to you?” Greed snarls.

“There is no way the network let you steal it.”

“Technicalities,” he says with a dismissive wave. “It belonged to CBS and now it belongs to me. If it was really that important to them, their security team would have put up a bigger fight.”

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Izumi Curtis**

“But I was alone at Briggs,” Izumi says. “And even that was preferable to the nonsense I have to deal with on the daily here.” She takes a breath. “I try so hard to be good person. To be the tribe mother, so to speak.” She closes her eyes. “But these people _test me_.”

* * *

She squints, peering more deeply at his setup, and notes that there are black metal coverings that meld the branches to the board.

“What is that black stuff?”

“My ultimate shield,” he says, running a black-shielded hand through his moat to deepen it. “Because this is a crack fic, I’ve decided that I can apply it to any extraneous object I want for plot convenience.”

“That’s against the rules.”

Greed laughs sharply. “ _Alchemy_  is against the rules. They never said anything about--”

“About your abilities that are literally only within your realm of capabilities because of alchemy. Because you were created with alchemy.”

“Well, listen,” says Greed, an agitated twitch coming to his right eye. “We can agree to disagree--”

“You’re cheating! Have you--” she keels over, surrendering to the onslaught of blood that surges up her throat and pours out of her mouth. It swims through Greed’s moat.

“Eugh!” he exclaims, jumping to his feet, but slamming his head against the board in the process. He rubs the afflicted area with a groan, then glares at Izumi.

“What  _the fuck_?” he demands.

 

Elsewhere, the snipers have gone hunting for their tribe’s dinner. Havoc has two birds hanging from his belt, which would be impressive if Riza didn’t have twenty eight.

“This is bullshit,” Havoc mutters. “You’re not even aiming at  _anything_. It’s like these birds are magnetically drawn to your shots.”

“That’s nonsense,” says Riza, who, keeping her eyes trained on Havoc, lets a makeshift arrow fly in a completely random direction. A bird hits the ground with a pierced gut seconds later.

“My surname has ‘hawk’ in it,” she reminds him. “They’ve probably just grown fond of me.”

“Hawkeye, I don’t think--”

Riza whistles and extends her arms like a bird about to take flight. On command, five birds swarm toward her, hovering in the air, waiting for her command.

“Come,” she says, and they perch on her arms. Havoc can only stare in bewilderment.

“What the--”

“Eye of the Hawk, Havoc,” Riza reminds him.

Riza whistles for the birds’ attention and says, “All right. On your way.” They take off and as they fly into the sun, Riza winks at Havoc and shoots. Her arrow goes straight through one bird and into the next. All five bird corpses hit the ground moments later. Riza strings them to her belt with a grin.

“Tonight, we feast,” she says, ignoring Havoc’s look of horror.

 

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“What do I offer in terms of prolificacy?” Riza holds up two dead birds. “This. This is what I bring. Bradley can contribute all he wants in physical challenges, but at the end of the day, who is making sure these impotent castaways get fed?” She looks dead into the camera. “I need to make the merge. And if I had to have a strategy, I’m glad it’s something invaluable like this. Without me, the closest thing to a sharpshooter is Havoc. And although he’s decent if we lower our standards tenfold, he’s not me.”

* * *

 

By the shore, Bradley sunbathes while Winry and Alphonse try to start a fire.

“Hurry it up!” Bradley calls irritably.

“Okay, that’s it,” Winry growls. She takes a piece of wood and aims to chuck it at him, but Al takes her wrist.

“Winry, no,” he says. “We’re protagonists. We have to set a good example.”

“He can’t just take advantage of us like this!” Winry protests. “Last night, he ate ten birds, Al.  _Ten_. Do you know how many that left the rest of us? Two. For six people. One of which being Major Armstrong, who counts as like five.”

“Because of Fuhrer Bradley, we won the challenge,” Al reasons.

“Because of his foul play? He could have killed Riza!”

“If I wanted to kill Lieutenant Hawkeye, believe me, I would have,” says Bradley from where he lay. Winry and Al exchange an alarmed glance.

“Yes,” Bradley continues, keeping his eyes closed and his fingers laced behind his head. “I can hear your entire conversation. And I have to say, I’m almost offended. Hawkeye is my subordinate so whatever she catches belongs to me.”

“Actually, Wrath,” says Greed who swooped in out of nowhere. “Everything on this island is mine. Including this tribe.”

“Say what?” Winry asks with a blistering look.

“Guys!” Al stands, holding his palms up in peace. “Guys, stop!”

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Alphonse Elric**

The suit of armor sighs deeply, running his hands over his metal face. “Why won’t they understand that in order to succeed, we need to be cohesive? What we’re doing is self-destructive.” He finally looks toward the camera, but his shoulders sag tiredly. “I just...I want to win. Money can’t buy me my body back, but it can buy kittens which is almost as satisfying.”

* * *

 

“I brought dinner,” Riza announces later that evening. She dumps a heavy string of dead birds by the fire. She glances behind her and calls, “Havoc! Sometime before the Promised Day, eh?”

Havoc comes stumbling out of the jungle, dragging a sack the size of Major Armstrong through the sand, presumably filled with the rest of their game. With a gasp, he collapses.

Greed raises an eyebrow and asks, “What in the hell--”

“Hawkeye, a little help!” Havoc wheezes. His face falls flat into the sand. His next words are muffled. “I can’t anymore.”

Riza sighs with exasperation. She shoots her tribe mates a withering look that translates to, _Can you believe this shit?_

Or at least it would if any of these people could read her half as well as the Colonel. They only stare at her blankly.

 

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Jean Havoc**

Havoc scratches the back of his neck. “With the team, Lieutenant Hawkeye is great. She protects her subordinates, follows orders, keeps Mustang in line, and is all around exemplary.” His eyes widen and the fear within them becomes that much more evident. “But without the Colonel, or anyone to give her orders, she’s insane. She’s too powerful. She keeps us fed, but she’s going to break me apart. And  _I haven’t had a cigarette in days_. I’m already losing my shit out here.” He begins to rock back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, raking his nails against his scalp. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this. The island is beginning to extract every ounce of sanity any of us have left.”

* * *

“Has anyone seen Armstrong?” Greed asks when Riza begins to disembowel their dinner. She sits to the side, spotted with dirt and blood. Winry deliberately sits with her back to the entire ordeal, grimacing whenever she hears the splat of guts being tossed to the ground.

“Not since this morning,” says Izumi.

Then, on cue, they hear a bellowing laugh echo from the jungle. Shirtless and glistening with sweat, Armstrong leaps onto their campsite. He runs toward the others, stepping on Havoc in the process, who curls into himself with a shriek of agony.

“Oh my!” Armstrong says. He looks down to a twitching Jean. “Lieutenant Havoc, I had no idea!”

“Where have you been?” Izumi asks, ignoring Havoc’s whimpering.

Armstrong wipes his forehead with the bandana he’s tied to his wrist. “Training, of course! I need to be in top physical condition if we are to win the next immunity challenge! This kind of resilience has been passed down--”

“We’ll have no problem winning, so long as we have the Fuhrer,” says Alphonse. Winry scoffs in response.

“Where is he?” Armstrong asks, a sparkle forming beside his head.

“His castle,” Winry says bitterly. They all look toward Bradley’s shelter and note that it’s expanded some. It now has an additional story, a porch, and a small primate sweeping the steps with a broom fashioned out of a branch and its leaves.

“How is he even doing this?” asks Al, gawking at the estate in wonder.

“How did he train that animal so quickly?” Izumi asks wearily.

“By sunrise, that castle will be mine,” Greed mumbles.

“Incoming!” Riza shouts, tossing a bird corpse their way. Izumi grabs a stick and skewers it mid air. She holds it over the fire.

“Gather ‘round!” Izumi calls out. “These birds are going to go fast.”

Havoc groans and Armstrong plucks him off the ground, slinging him over his shoulder. Riza tosses Izumi a second bird.

 

## // IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //

The castaways reunite elsewhere for their immunity challenge. Jeff Probst stands before two enormous trampoline runways bridging out from net walls, red and yellow respectively.

The Yellow Tribe’s attention is immediately with Red, trying to figure out who was booted in the last Tribal Council.

“Kimblee,” Al whispers, and Riza lets out a sigh of relief. She and Roy hold each other’s gaze for maybe three seconds, but somehow manage to get an entire conversation out in that time.

Roy:  _I almost got voted off._

Riza:  _No way._

Roy:  _Yeah. Apparently people find me ‘useless’ can you believe that?_

Riza:  _Do you really want me to answer that?_

Roy:  _Come on, seriously?_

Riza:  _Have you met yourself, sir?_

Roy:  _Fine, point taken. Anyway, I kind of made a deal with Lan Fan that if she kept me on the island, I’d give her a status report on the prince. So, how’s he doing?_

Riza:  _You really shouldn’t make reckless promises like that._

Roy:  _Hawkeye, you don’t understand the position I was in._

Riza:  _Sir--_

Roy:  _Look, Jeff Probst is going to start carrying on any minute. Just give me a status update._

Riza:  _Ugh_.

She casts a rapid glance in Greed’s direction. He’s glowering at Bradley, foaming at the mouth a bit.

Riza:  _He’s fine. Made his own shelter on camp. Stealing stuff from the network. He’s getting by._

Roy:  _Good to know. Thanks, Lieutenant._

Roy looks over at an expectant Lan Fan and winks. She sags in relief, a smile touching her lips. Roy smiles crookedly at Hawkeye, but she’s already diverted her attention toward Jeff Probst.

“So, as you can see, we’re one player down,” Jeff Probst announces. “Red Tribe, how are we feeling?”

“Unsatisfied,” says Olivier. Rebecca huffs in agreement. Roy sighs.

“Incidentally, here at CBS, we don’t care about your feelings,” says Jeff Probst. “Asking is a mere formality for the sake of making awkward pre-challenge small talk. Anyway, who’s ready for the challenge!?”

“Woo!” Alphonse cheers halfheartedly. Winry waves her hand in the air. From the Red Tribe, Ed chuckles, and is overcome with yearning promptly thereafter. Al and Winry probably have tons of new inside jokes that he’ll never be a part of once they all go back to Amestris. He’s the goddamn main character. He’s not supposed to feel neglected. It’s Fullmetal Alchemist:  _Brotherhood_. Not Fullmetal Alphonse: Resembool Friendhood.

“Yellow!” Jeff Probst says, “I’ll be taking immunity back.”

Everyone looks to Greed. He’s clutching the idol to his chest.

“Greed, go on,” Izumi prompts. But he holds it tighter and shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “It’s...it’s mine.”

“Greed, give it back, just like we practiced,” says Winry tiredly. This morning, they rehearsed Greed having to relinquish the idol for two hours because they knew this would be an issue.

Everyone looks to him expectantly. Jeff Probst taps his foot in his impatience.

Finally, Izumi grabs the idol and yanks, but Greed tightens his hold.

“Let go,” Izumi commands through gritted teeth.

“Just a little longer,” Greed begs. “Just five more minutes.”

“For fuck’s sake, this is a forty minute episode!” Jeff Probst growls. He turns toward Chimera!Tucker and says, “Release the hounds!”

“At last,” Chimera!Tucker whispers. He moves toward the van parked a few feet behind him, but everyone on Yellow hastily shouts in protest.

“I apologize for this,” says Armstrong before punching Greed in the face. He hits the sand with a groan and Izumi is able to slide the idol from his loosened grip. She presents it to Jeff Probst with a nod.

“Thank you,” Jeff Probst says, a little miffed. He places the idol on a nearby pedestal and says, “Immunity is back up for grabs. Now, for your challenge,” he gestures to the runways behind him, “Three members of each tribe are going to run across the netted trampoline and climb that wall. There are six bags of puzzle pieces fastened to it. They’re going to grab a bag, run back, toss it their table,” he points toward two adjacent tables sporting each tribe’s color, “and tag their tribe member to grab the next bag. When all six bags are placed on the table, the remaining four tribe members will solve the puzzle. First tribe to do so wins immunity. Simple enough?”

“This is way less convoluted than the last challenge,” Scar comments.

“Because the author made up the last challenge,” Jeff Probst explains. “This one she stole from a previous episode of Survivor.”

“Ahh,” everyone choruses in comprehension.

“Yellow, you have one extra tribe member,” says Jeff Probst. “Who is sitting out?”

Everyone’s eyes immediately go to Havoc and he could not possibly look more offended by the notion.

“What the hell?” he demands.

“You smoke too much,” says Greed, pushing himself up off the ground.

“Your back is still healing post-Armstrong,” Izumi adds.

“You’ll only hold us back,” says Riza.

Havoc looks at the floor with a frown. He nods solemnly and drags his feet toward a nearby bench and sits.

“Let’s get to it!” Jeff Probst exclaims, clapping his hands.

The tribes have divvied up their team members. Jeff Probst sits beside Havoc with an enormous foot-long meatball sub. Havoc’s mouth begins to water.

“Survivor’s ready!?” he calls out before taking a sloppy bite. Havoc licks his lips and wonders if Jeff Probst would notice if he just ran his finger through the marinara sauce and tried some.

“Let’s go!” Ed shouts. On the Red Tribe, Scar, Olivier, and Lan Fan are to grab the bags, as they are the most physically fit. Ed, May, Roy, and Rebecca wait by the table as the puzzle solvers.

Over with Yellow, the runners are Riza, Bradley, and Greed as they are the most agile, while Alphonse, Winry, Armstrong, and Izumi man the table.

The challenge begins and Riza and Olivier take off. On the Yellow runway, Riza loses her footing early, falling against the net with a grunt.

“Riza already down!” Jeff Probst announces. Olivier stumbles, getting her foot caught up in the net, giving Riza time to recover. Olivier leaps toward the wall, gripping the vertical net just as she loses her balance.

“I will destroy you, net!” she shouts, extricating her foot from yet another trap.

“COME ON, GENERAL, YOU’VE GOT THIS!” Rebecca yells, cutting through her tribe mates’ supportive shouting.

Riza hoists herself up, climbing the net until her hand finds purchase on one of the bags. She rips it off and drops to the trampoline with a hard bounce that strikes her in the tail bone. “Motherfucker,” she hisses under her breath, scrambling back to her feet.

“All right, Riza!” Winry yells.

“RUN, LIEUTENANT, RUN!” says Alphonse.

Olivier savagely rips her red bag off the wall and launches herself off the net with a war cry, landing somewhere in the middle of the runway. It gives her an advantage over Riza who has fallen once more a few feet behind.

She shoves Scar forward and he takes off, but his large size hinders him in crossing the net. He quickly topples over and resorts to running on all fours instead.

“MR. SCAR!” May cries out.

“Curses!” he grumbles when his leg gets tangled. With a roar, he pulls himself free. “Ishvala give me strength today!”

In that time, Riza has dropped a bag on the table and Greed has gone ahead. He stares fixedly at the bag and thinks,  _mine. mine. mine. mine_.

“AUGHGUH!” he bellows, cutting across the trampoline in three long bounces and latching onto the net-wall. He climbs it like a creature dragging itself out from hell and rips the bag off with a scream.

“Greed covering ground!” Jeff Probst says through a mouthful of meatball. He swallows and phlegmily adds, “Scar continues to prove that religion and reality TV do not mix. Isn’t that right, big guy?”

“I WILL DISMEMBER YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!” Scar howls in response, at last grasping the net wall and hoisting his body up to grab the next bag.

“Oh-ho-ho!” Jeff Probst laughs. “Getting passionate, I see.”

Scar throws himself to the net and crawls to his team in an ungainly manner. He throws the bag on the table with a yell.

“Calm down, man, it’s just a game,” Roy says, slowly inching away.

Scar’s nostrils flare. He flexes his fingers, the urge to choke him running strong, but May touches his arm and says, “I think you did a good job, Mr. Scar.” He deflates and looks gently toward the little Xingese girl.

Because every tsundere has a weakness.

Bradley jumps across the entire trampoline in a single leap and grips the net with one hand. He hoists himself up, grabs his bag of puzzle pieces, and leaps across, gliding through the air until he hits the sand on the other side of the runway in a perfect somersault. Jeff Probst’s jaw drops, a piece of meatball falling to the sand. Havoc’s fists clench as he contemplates whether or not he should eat it when no one is looking.

“Here,” he sneers, shoving the bag onto the table. Riza takes off to grab the next bag. Lan Fan returns with hers, acquired only using acrobatics, barely even making contact with either net.

“Holy shit,” Roy says, staring in awe. “She’s amazing.”

Riza makes it to the other side with more ease this time around. She scales the net wall for her bag and makes it back in good time. Olivier trails her by less than a few seconds.

“Your pace is lamentable!” she yells to Scar. “WE CANNOT LOSE TO THEM AGAIN! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!”

The challenge continues more smoothly, with the exception of Jeff Probst’s superfluous commentary.

“There goes Scar, falling over again!”

“Greed’s hair got caught in the net. Whoa, now! Don’t give me that look, buddy!”

“HAHAHA!” Another bite of sub falls out of his mouth and to the ground. This time Havoc eats it like a fucking street dog, not even bothering to brush off the sand. Calories are calories and here on the island, beggars can’t be choosers.

“It’s decided,” Scar grumbles, flexing his arm of deconstruction. “When I win Survivor, I am going to kill Jeff Probst.”

“Scar, no!” May says. “You can’t say that out loud! What will CBS think?”

Bradley dumps the last bag on the table and the Yellow Tribe gets to work. It takes Lan Fan a few seconds longer as they lost time with Scar’s last jaunt. They dump the puzzle pieces onto the table.

“Okay, okay,” says Ed, deep in concentration. “Step aside and leave the critical thinking to the child prodigy.”

“I was the youngest state alchemist to ever live when I was appointed,” Mustang says.

“Yeah, and you were dethroned.  _By me_. So move it.” Ed shoves Roy out of the way and starts putting the pieces together. Rebecca shrugs her shoulders as if to say,  _Kid’s got a point_.

Over by the Yellow table, Izumi and Armstrong put together the corners while Winry and Al work on the middle. But because Al is so bulky, he accidentally shoves half the pieces off the table after they’ve been formed.

“Alphonse!” Izumi chides.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims, dropping to the sand to pick them up, then whimpering when sand begins to seep into his armor, rendering his movements quite thick.

Winry helps him pick up the fallen pieces and then curses. “Where did these go again?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry!” Alphonse begins to panic. Bradley sighs deeply, lacing his fingers with shaking hands. Riza glances back at Havoc, thinking, perhaps it would have been more prudent to stick him in the challenge.

Then she sees he’s picked up a handful of sand and has resorted to eating it. She looks away with a grimace.  _Yeah, never mind._

“Fullmetal, hurry!” Roy says, pounding the kid’s back. “We’re ahead!”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard,” he mumbles, bringing the pieces together. Rebecca and Olivier share a grin. They knew there was a reason Edward Elric is the main character.

When he snaps the last puzzle piece into place, everyone looks down at the board and frowns.

In fancy calligraphy, the image reads:  _CBS > BONES STUDIO._

“The fuck?” says Roy.

“RED TRIBE WINS IMMUNITY!” Jeff Probst shouts, jumping to his feet, dripping more sauce onto the sand. This time, Havoc doesn’t go for it, now that everyone’s eyes are trained in their general direction.

In rage, Bradley swipes all the puzzle pieces off the board. Greed drops to the sand with crossed arms. Riza pinches the bridge of her nose. Armstrong puts a comforting hand on Alphonse’s armor because the remaining tribe members are staring daggers at him.

“B-but,” he sputters, “Lieutenant Hawkeye said it was okay that I didn’t do well last challenge.”

“Yeah,” Riza mutters. “Because we were  _winning_.”

“I can’t believe you would do this, Alphonse,” Izumi says despairingly.

“You really let us down,” Winry adds.

“Fuck you,” Greed says plainly.

“Mrergh,” Bradley growls.

Al covers his armored face with shaking hands. He did. He let them down. And he feels awful about it. He glances over at the other tribe. Surely his brother is looking toward him with love and sympathy.

“FULLMETAL! FULLMETAL!” the tribe chants, holding their tiny MVP up over their heads. Ed laughs in delight.

“We really kicked their asses!” he hoots.

Alphonse looks down, feeling hollow. Well, not entirely hollow. His armor is half-filled with sand. He begins to shake himself out to empty it some.

May Chang runs to the podium and takes the immunity idol. She hugs it to her chest with glee.

“Red Tribe, you are safe from tonight’s elimination,” says Jeff Probst. He looks over at the acerbated losers. “Yellow, you’ll be going to Tribal Council tonight where one of you will be voted off.” He nods at them. “I’ll see you then. Have fun deciding.”

 

## YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP

“Guys, I’m conflicted,” says Winry. She walks through the trees with Izumi and Riza. The three women stop to rest some distance away from camp.

“We have to vote Alphonse,” says Riza with certainty. “He’s an enormous liability-- _literally_.”

“But he comes with perks,” Winry points out. “He doesn’t eat and he never runs out of energy. Those are really useful assets.”

“But today was awful,” Izumi says. “And what’s going to happen the day we have a challenge where everyone needs to swim? Alphonse cannot get wet. Even if his bloodseal remains untouched, he’ll rust out here. There are too many factors working against him.”

“I agree,” says Riza. “Alphonse’s hindrances outweigh his pros.”

“But it’s  _Al_ ,” Winry says. She pulls her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “I just can’t imagine writing his name down. He’s like family.”

“Winry, believe me, I understand,” Izumi says softly. “It pains me to do this too. But there are two million cenz at stake here. And money is more important than family sometimes.”

Riza nods in agreement. “I, too, care deeply for Alphonse. But come on, imagine what someone could  _buy_  with two million cenz.”

Winry cannot believe her ears. “You two are heartless!”

“Oh, grow up, Winry,” says Izumi. “Maybe you’re living it up in Rush Valley, but the rest of us non-prodigies barely have a pot to piss in.”

“Do you know what I make being Mustang’s adjutant?” Riza asks, somewhat of a crazed look coming to her eyes. “The answer is  _not nearly enough_. He gets himself almost-killed like five times a day. And I still have to work to scrape together whatever I have to make sure my crappy apartment has utilities and my dog doesn’t die of malnourishment.”

“Oh,” is all Winry can say in response.

“Yeah,  _OH_!” Riza continues. “And whether or not we have an off-screen relationship is irrelevant because he cannot deliver nearly enough for all the crap I go through,  _if you know what I mean_ \--”

“Lieutenant, this is a family show!” Izumi says sharply. “Keep it PG.”

“The point is,” Riza says with a heavy breath, “I need those two million cenz and I will do whatever it takes to win.”

“Same,” says Izumi. “I can start a chain for my butcher shop and become rich. Sig and I can have all the money we need to fill the gaping emptiness left by our lack of a child. Hell, we can  _buy_  a child!”

Winry allows herself to ponder what she’d do with that kind of money. She’d be able to buy top of the line automail pieces. She thinks of the diamond-tipped claws she saw at Briggs and her mouth begins to water.

 

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Winry Rockbell**

Winry looks ashamedly at the camera. “I’ll admit, two million cenz is really appealing.” She shrugs uncomfortably and lets out a shaky laugh. “I mean, Al will understand, right? We’re only strengthening our tribe. Besides, he’s a suit of armor. What’s he going to do with that kind of money? Buy a new loin cloth?”

* * *

 

Over by Bradley’s palace, Greed says, “I’m voting Wrath.”

Armstrong, Alphonse, and Havoc look to him in shock.

“You mean, you’re not voting me?” Al asks warily.

Greed sighs, leaning back so that he’s covered by his homemade shelter. “Nah. Don’t get me wrong, you screwed us in the ass today, but I don’t hate you nearly as much as I hate him.” He licks his lips. “Plus, I want that palace.”

“In as much as I’d love to get Bradley off the island,” Havoc says, “He’s just too good in the immunity challenges. We lose a vital physical asset without him.”

“But he’s insufferable,” Greed argues.

“So are you,” Havoc reasons.

“But I’m your leader,” Greed points out, to which Havoc and Armstrong exchange a confounded look.

“It isn’t wise to vote for King Bradley,” Armstrong says. “At least not yet. Perhaps when we’re closer to the merge--”

“And what if we don’t get the opportunity?” Greed asks. “What if we win every immunity challenge from here on out because  _he’s just so good_? Then he’s going to take every individual immunity once we merge and win the entire thing!”

“Unlikely,” says Havoc. “Remember that the winner is chosen by a jury of the castaways voted off post-merge. And as far as I know, he has no allies.”

“He’s the leader of the goddamn country,” Greed says. “People will vote for him out of sheer terror that he’ll screw them over once we get back to Amestris.”

“I’m with Greed,” Alphonse says. “I think we should vote out the Fuhrer.”

“That’s two votes,” Greed says. He looks to Armstrong and Havoc. “Come on, soldiers. We’ll get along fine without him. You have me, with my ultimate shield. And those two women are crazy strong, especially the alchemist. Even despite her...internal renovations.”

“I dunno,” Havoc says.

“What’s there to know?” Al asks hastily. “Greed is right! We’ll get along just fine without him! And we’ll have that nice castle, won’t we?” But Greed shoots him a disgusted look.

“I never said I would share it,” he says.

“Regardless, Bradley is definitely the way to go,” Al says.

Greed rises and says, “You men ponder that. I’m going for a walk.”

 

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Alphonse Elric**

“I hate that I have to play so dirty by pushing the vote onto someone else,” Alphonse says. Then an curiously evil gleam crosses his red eyes. “But if I’m on the chopping block, then play dirty I must.”

* * *

 

Greed stumbles upon Riza, Winry, and Izumi in his crusade. He decides now is as good a time as any to seize this opportunity.

“Laaaadies,” says Greed with a charming smile.

 _Oh, god,_  says Ling inside his head.  _You sound so creepy._

“Tribe mates,” he amends. And Ling sighs internally.  _I suppose_.

“What do you want, Greed?” Izumi asks, tired and unamused. He sees that the two blondes wear similar visages of exhaustion. Today’s loss really did do a number on everyone, it seems.

“Your attention,” he says. He sidles up beside Winry and winks. “And to see you three beautiful, beautiful women smile.”

The three look at one another. Riza then says, “I change my mind, let’s vote for Greed.”

“Sounds good to me,” says Winry.

“Oh, thank the lord. I was growing so agitated,” Izumi says.

“Hey,  _hey_!” Greed jumps in their way with his palms up. “No need to take such drastic measures.”

“You have ten seconds to get to the point before I kill you dead right here and now,” Izumi warns.

Greed tilts his head to the side in confusion. “Lady, you know I’m a homunculus, right?”

“Is that a challenge?” Izumi asks, her eyes beginning to glow a hot shade of red. Greed swallows with a hard shudder.

“Noted,” he says warily. Riza starts to walk past him but he grabs her by the arm. Her response is to judo-flip and tackle him to the ground.

Once the wind has been effectively knocked out of him, Riza pins his wrists on either side of his head and grinds her knee into his chest.

“What do you want?” she growls.

“I want to vote Bradley off and I need people on my side,” he says, activating his ultimate shield. It slips on beneath Riza’s knee. “Now get off of me before I shatter your leg, Lieutenant.”

She releases him and he sits up, smoothing out the back of his hair. “ _Anyway_ ,” Greed says, “Are you guys in?”

“Hell no,” Izumi says. “We need him for the immunity challenges.”

“That may be true,” Winry says, “but maybe Greed has a point. I mean, yeah, he’s really great, physically, but around camp he’s just an asshole. I wouldn’t mind seeing him leave.”

“We have to strengthen our tribe,” Riza says. “Tribal council is an opportunity to weed out the weak. That’s why we need to take Alphonse out.”

“Al isn’t weak!” Winry argues. “He’s just had bad luck! He’s an incredible fighter, a brilliant alchemist, and just a really nice person. Why  _can’t_  we vote Bradley off?”

“What good will fighting and alchemy do us here?” Izumi asks. “We need to survive and in order to do that, we must continue to win pointless relay races. A giant suit of armor is just not practical.”

“Winry, be smart,” Riza says. “If you vote out Alphonse, you have allies in Izumi and I. We’ll take each other to the merge. But if you side with Alphonse, you’re only hurting yourself. Because which allies are you going to have once he’s gone?”

“Are you forgetting that I have Ed on the Red Tribe?” she asks.

“Not if I get to him first,” says Izumi.

Winry glares at her. “Oh,  _hell_  no. Ed is my love interest! You will not stoop that low.”

“Why won’t you idiots see that Bradley is the way to go here!” Greed exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “For the love of  _fuck_ , we don’t need him! Look around! Our tribe is physically superior to Red!”

“Riza, don’t forget everything Bradley has done,” Winry says. Something flashes in the Lieutenant’s eyes and Winry decides to bring that to the surface. “He choked you in the first challenge.  _And_  he took you hostage in the canon storyline.  _Remember_?”

* * *

Yellow Tribe Confessional: Riza Hawkeye

Riza screws her eyes shut and mutters, “She’s not wrong. Damn it, she’s not.” She runs her hands through her hair in frustration. “There isn’t anyone in this world I hate more than Bradley. And I  _would_  love to see him fail...but…” She shakes her head and looks into the camera in despair. “I just don’t know what to do.”

 

## // TRIBAL COUNCIL //

The Yellow Tribe arrive at the Tribal Council hut that night. Jeff Probst stands behind his podium with a wide grin and crumbs on his shirt.

“Welcome,” he says, then belches. He brings his fist to his mouth and chuckles. “Excuse me.”

“Did you just eat?” Havoc asks while lighting his torch.

Jeff Probst grins sheepishly. “The Red Tribe’s reward for winning the challenge was a feast. And...well…”

“Wait,” Izumi asks, arching an eyebrow. “Did we have a reward for winning last time?”

“Haha! That’s nonsense!” Jeff Probst exclaims a little quickly. He take a nervous swig from his canteen.

The hut falls silent, not a sound over the crackling flames licking up and down the pit in the floor’s center.

Finally, Greed whispers, “This son of a bitch.”

“So let’s get to the council!” Jeff Probst says, ushering the castaways to their seats. Everyone shoots him a collective glare.

“What happened to you guys this challenge?” Jeff Probst asks, reclaiming his spot behind the podium. “Last time, you were on fire. This time...not so much.”

Everyone’s eyes rest on Alphonse and he shrinks back into his seat. Jeff Probst’s eyebrows raise.

“I’m sensing some animosity,” he says.

“It was an accident,” Al says weakly.

“It cost us immunity,” Riza mutters.

“Well,  _your_  negligence got the Colonel stabbed that one time!” Alphonse blurts. The instant the words are out, he regrets it. He covers his armored mouth in horror and whispers, “Lieutenant, I am so sorry.”

Riza’s eyes have gone wide. She grips the edge of her seat tightly enough to crack the wood. Izumi glances down, impressed.

“Even  _I_  know that was a low blow,” Bradley says under his breath.

“We have an issue, Jeff Probst.”

Everyone averts their eyes to Havoc who continues, “We’re not cohesive. Nobody on this tribe actually  _likes_  each other anymore. People who came in here as friends are stabbing each other in the back. It’s disheartening.”

“You’re one to talk about being stabbed in the back,” Greed mumbles. A chorus of laughter follows. Havoc furrows his brows.

“That’s messed up,” he says.

“Not as messed up as trying to target a kid  _without a body_ ,” Greed says, deliberately looking in Riza and Izumi’s direction. “I mean, how heartless can you be? I know _some people_  here are dogs of the military, so of course, I’d expect nothing less. But from a  _housewife_? What’s motherly about that, huh?”

Alphonse makes an alarmed sound from within his armor. He turns to Izumi, his voice damn near destroyed when he asks, “Teacher? Is this true?”

“Damn you, homunculus,” she mutters. She looks to Alphonse with a tender smile and says, “Don’t take offense, Alphonse. This is all about money and nothing more.”

“You’re choosing  _money_  over me?” he asks, aghast.

“Well, when you put it like that--”

“That’s right, Alphonse,” Greed says. “You let it out.”

“Screw you!” Riza snarls. “You just want Bradley’s palace!”

Bradley eyes him sideways but says nothing.

“Palace?” Jeff Probst asks with some hesitance.

“This is a disaster.” Armstrong’s voice begins to tremble. “A travesty that we cannot get along!” He rips his shirt off and bursts into tears. “It’s just not right!”

Jeff Probst decides, then, that they’d better get to voting before any additional clothes come flying off.

“Okay,” he says, “so it’s time to vote! Armstrong, why don’t you go first?”

“Certainly,” he says, dabbing his moist eyes with his bandana. He gets up and makes his way to the end of the runway, to the voting table. In his opulent calligraphy, he writes Alphonse’s name.

“Alphonse Elric,” he says, tears streaming down his face, “it pains me to do this. But I must. For the good of the team.” He clenches his enormous fist and looks down in lament. Then he places his vote in the pot and returns to his seat. 

Riza is next. She deliberates for some time, weighing out the pros and cons of all tonight’s contenders. She taps her dirt-caked fingers on the page and mutters, “Dammit.”

When she finally casts her vote, she returns, and Alphonse is up next. His armor clanks all the way to the voting station. After writing Bradley’s name, he holds it up to the camera, whispering, “I’m sorry. But I hope it’s you and not me.”

Next up is Bradley who writes Alphonse’s name and holds it up without explanation. He sticks it in the pot and goes back to his seat.

Izumi sighs as she mulls this over. She remains at the table for even longer than Riza before finally placing her vote.

Winry is next. She doesn’t hesitate to write Bradley’s name. With a soft smile, she says, “I don’t care if this screws me over. I’m on your side, Al. No matter what.”

When Greed is up, he writes  _WRATH_  in all caps and holds it up. “I hate you,” he says. “I hate everything you stand for. I hate your face. I hate your mustache. I hate your eyepatch. And your palace belongs to me. Everything belongs to me.”

Havoc is last. He holds his vote up and says, “I hope I’m making the right choice here.”

When he’s finally seated, Jeff Probst nods and says, “I’ll tally the votes.” He steps out of frame to retrieve them. Then the castaways hear him sigh disgruntledly.

“Greed!” Jeff Probst shouts. “Did you steal the votes?”

Greed stuffs the pot under his shirt and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When did he even get over there?” Winry asks quietly. Havoc shrugs. He hadn’t seen Greed anywhere around when he was voting.

Izumi turns around and yanks the votes out from under Greed’s shirt. He growls in protest when she hands them to Jeff Probst.

“Thank you, Izumi,” he says. He narrows his eyes at Greed and asks, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Greed mutters something unintelligible and turns away.

“... _anyway_ ,” says Jeff Probst, shaking his head. “Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

“First vote.” He opens the pot and pulls out his first slip of paper. Jeff Probst reveals it to the tribe. “Alphonse.”

Greed sighs. Al tenses, but doesn’t lose all faith. Not yet.

Jeff Probst pulls out the next vote. “Alphonse. Two Alphonse.”

If Al had a heart, it would be racing. He taps his foot anxiously, which only causes a racket since it’s made of hollow metal.

Jeff Probst reaches into the jar and unfolds the next vote. “Third vote.” He turns it around. “Alphonse. That’s three Alphonse.”

“Oh no,” Al whispers.

“Next vote,” says Jeff Probst, extracting another slip of paper. He shows it to the tribe. “Alphonse. That’s four votes Alphonse.”

Al’s armor rattles against his seat as he trembles. He doesn’t want to be voted off the island. He hasn’t even reunited with Edward post-merge. They were supposed to make it to the end together. They were supposed--

“Bradley,” Jeff Probst says, turning a new vote around. Greed recognizes the handwriting as someone’s other than his own. His lips curl into a smile.

Jeff Probst pulls out another vote. He turns it around. “Bradley. Two votes Bradley. Four votes Alphonse.”

“Yes,” Greed whispers. “Yes.”

“Wrath,” Jeff Probst reads, turning a third vote around. “That’s three Bradley, four Alphonse.”

There is one vote left. If it’s Bradley, that would make it a tie, and then he and Alphonse would have to draw rocks. It’ll become a game of chance, but it’s still better than being voted off outright.

Jeff Probst takes out another vote and stares at it for a long while. Everyone inches forward, waiting.

At last, Jeff Probst declares, “Second person voted out of  _Survivor: Not Amestris_.” He turns it around and Al feels his entire world collapse. “Alphonse. Bring me your torch.”

Al reaches behind him and picks up his torch. From the bench, Izumi closes her eyes remorsefully. Riza doesn’t look at him either. Winry, on the other hand, takes a deep breath, and her eyes instantly flood with tears.

“Alphonse,” Jeff Probst says when they meet. “The tribe has spoken.” He snuffs his flame and dismisses him. Al nods solemnly and turns toward his tribe mates. Winry is shaking her head, and Al waves sadly to her.

“Goodbye, everyone,” he says. His shoulders begin to shake. “Winry, I hope you make it to the end. Tell Brother I’m sorry I didn’t last.”

That sets Armstrong off. He bursts into tears yet again. Jeff Probst shakes his head at the Yellow Tribe and says, “Selfish, heartless monsters. All of you. How could you? He’s a cinnamon roll. Too good and pure for CBS and this world.”

Alphonse leaves and Jeff Probst waits until he’s gone to say, “You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Now get out of my sight.”

* * *

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Alphonse Elric**

“I guess a part of me knew it would come to this,” says Alphonse. “I only wish things had gone differently. I gave it my all, but for some reason, that just wasn’t good enough for my shallow tribe members.” He shrugs. “When I get my body back, I’m going to have an enormous feast and nobody is invited except for Winry and Brother. And cats. Lot’s of cats.”

* * *

 

Votes:  
Armstrong: Alphonse Elric  
Riza: Alphonse Elric  
Alphonse: Fuhrer Bradley  
Bradley: Alphonse Elric  
Izumi: Alphonse Elric  
Winry: Fuhrer Bradley  
Greed: Fuhrer Bradley  
Havoc: Alphonse Elric


	4. Episode 3 (Part 1)

##  **YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP**

When the Yellow Tribe returns, Bradley stomps up the porch of his palace. Everyone else lingers behind, defeated.

Bradley doesn’t look back at the others, but his voice is sharp enough to cut through steel. “I’ve decided that I am no longer going to help around camp. It seems there are people on this tribe who don’t appreciate that which I have so kindly contributed.”

Izumi and Winry exchange a glance. Greed can only stare in abject disbelief.

“All you’ve done is eat all our food and waste the limited resources we have,” Riza berates.

“And you’ve stolen equipment from the camera crew for your home security!” Havoc adds, gesturing to the tiny camera that clicks and follows their movements from the palace gutter. A few feet away, Archer has resorted to filming with a Motorola™ flip phone, courtesy of CBS.

“This thing is going to run out of memory really fast,” Archer says. “So hurry this up.”

“We’re on this island for twenty four more days,” Riza says.

Archer’s expression melts into utter helplessness. He holds the phone up with a swear.

“I’m at sixteen percent battery,” he says. “Is there an outlet anywhere?”

Izumi raises an eyebrow. “We’re in the middle of the jungle–”

“There’s an outlet in the master bedroom,” says Bradley. “And a home theater as well.”

“How the fuck–” Havoc begins.

Greed’s hands ball into fists.

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Greed**

“Day six on the island,” Greed says through his teeth. “And Wrath is still here. He’s nothing but a freeloader. Everyone thinks I’m the one losing my shit. They say, ‘Oh, Greed, you’re just jealous of his palace!’’” He leans forward. “Well, how about this: before Tribal Council, I saw him squawking at an orangutan. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but they’re planning something.” He narrows his eyes. “And I’m onto them.”

* * *

 

##  **RED TRIBE // CAMP**

“Thank you all for gathering,” says May. The Red Tribe has formed a circle around their campfire and the tiny Xingese Alkahestrist sits at the head with Scar to her right.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: May Chang**

“There is a lot of negative energy surrounding our tribe,” says May. “It’s disturbing our chi. I think that’s what may have held us back in the past. But if we all lay everything out and try to understand each other, it’s only logical we’ll function more cohesively. So I suggested we all talk about what’s bothering us and try to better ourselves in order to strengthen our unity as a tribe.”

* * *

 

“This,” says May, holding a twig, “is the talking stick. Only a person with the talking stick is allowed to speak. It’s how we can ensure this will remain respectful.”

Her tribe mates nod in compliance and she presents the talking stick to the man sitting beside her.

“Mr. Scar,” she says gently. “Would you like to go first?”

Scar stares at it for a long stretch of time before plucking it out of her small hands. He takes a deep breath, holding the stick to his chest.

Finally, he says, “I want to murder Jeff Probst.”

May immediately retrieves the stick and says, “On second thought, perhaps Edward would like to go first.”

She hands the stick to Roy who reaches over Lan Fan to get to Ed. He snatches it from the Colonel’s grasp and says, “Yeah, sure. I’ll go.”

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Edward Elric**

“This team building exercise is a prime opportunity to tell everyone what I really think of them,” Ed says with somewhat of a direful smirk.

* * *

 

“Now, I know I’ve remained mostly polite to you all in our anime canon,” Ed begins, “But–”

“Polite?” Roy asks with an arched eyebrow. “Fullmetal–” He gasps as a tiny blade buries itself in the tree he leans against, millimeters from his ear.

“ _NO TALKING WITHOUT THE STICK_!” May shrieks, having sprung up into a fighting stance. Three identical knives are nestled in between her fingers.

“Where the hell did she get those?” Rebecca whispers to Olivier. She screams as a second knife cuts through her hair.

“DID I STUTTER?” May shouts, actual flames beginning to flicker in her wide eyes.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: May Chang**

May smiles at the camera, bouncing adorably in her seat. “Sometimes, you need to use tough love to get your point across.”

* * *

 

Ed cowers, waving his stick over his head. “I have the stick! I have the stick!”

“That’s right,” May says, plopping back into a sitting position. “Edward has the stick. So everyone must be quiet.”

The Red Tribe is definitely quiet. Everyone sits, frozen in terror, as this little girl folds her hands on her lap, her expression crossing over from batshit mad to chipper within seconds.

“Anyway,” Ed says slowly. He clears his throat and straightens up. “Mustang, I vouched for you last tribal council. Don’t know why, but I did. And although I don’t regret voting Kimblee, I only wish we’d been able to get rid of you too. You’re lazy, whiny, condescending, and frankly, just an asshole.”

Roy sputters, unsure of what to make of that. Olivier takes in his wounded expression and begins to laugh.

“General,” Ed continues, and Olivier falls silent, looking to him challengingly. But Ed does not waver. “You’re great around camp and all, but you could stand to be less hostile. Especially during challenges. It does more harm than good.”

“Puh,” she says, crossing her arms and flipping her hair back. But because she doesn’t have the talking stick, she says no more.

“Scar,” Ed begins. He ponders for a second, then shakes his head. “Yeah, you know what, I have nothing to say. I just hate you.”

Scar clenches his fist but May shoots him a warning glare.

“Rebecca,” Ed says, he looks to the others in question, “that’s her name, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rebecca mutters and May growls, pointing a knife in her direction. Rebecca shuts up with a gulp.

“I don’t even know why you’re here,” Ed admits. “I literally have no idea who you are. And I’m the main character. You couldn’t have possibly had more than a few minutes of dialogue throughout the entire series. The fact that a d-list character like you was written into this fanfic instead of Hohenheim, Yoki, or essentially _anyone else_  is astounding.”

Rebecca can only stare, mouth agape.

“She’s not my subordinate,” Roy explains and May poises herself to throw another knife.

“Excuse me!” she yells.

“This was a terrible idea from the start,” says Olivier. “Asking Roy Mustang to actually follow an order–”

“I said  _shut up_!” May jumps to her feet and throws a knife that sinks into Roy’s shoulder. He collapses to the sand with a howl of pain.

Lan Fan springs away with a gasp. “He’s bleeding. He’s really bleeding!”

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!” Roy’s voice shakes with panic. “Do I keep it in?  _What will happen_  if I pull it out?”

Scar stares expressionlessly at the commotion. Olivier’s eyes widen in amusement. Rebecca cringes.

“Someone do something!” Lan Fan yells. “If he dies, I have no way of keeping track of the young lord!”

“I see a light!” Roy cries. “It’s beckoning me!”

“Get a hold of yourself, Colonel!” Ed says, slapping him in the face with his automail hand.

With a grunt, Roy rolls over and into the puddle of blood that has formed under him. Ed half-considers doing something to help but realizes quickly that Winry will blow a gasket if he gets blood on her precious automail. So he slowly backs away, making it Lan Fan’s problem instead.

“Colonel!” Lan Fan cries out. “Stay with us!”

“Oh, please, it’s just a flesh wound,” says May, rolling her eyes. She skips over and kneels by his writhing form, then yanks the knife out. Roy wails in agony.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Roy sits in front of the camera, applying pressure to his wound with a wadded up bandana. He exhales a long breath, his steady gaze boring into the lens. At last, he says, “You could say I felt attacked.”

* * *

 

After everyone has calmed down, May paces around the fire, incredulous. She places her hands on her hips.

“I am very disappointed,” she says. No one meets her eyes. She takes a calming breath, then continues. “All I wanted was to have a civil discussion. And what ended up happening?” She pauses, her withering gaze traveling over each tribe member.

“You all behaved like animals,” she says. “There was blood.” She points to the crimson-soaked sand that gleams in the low firelight. “That is a man’s real blood.”

Roy rolls his shoulder back, wincing in pain.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” May demands.

The members of the Red Tribe look remorsefully at one another. A quiet smattering of, “We’re sorry” follows.

Fiercely, she turns, her braids whipping through the air from the motion. “I’m retiring for the night. I hope that by tomorrow we are all in better spirits for the immunity challenge.” And with that, she makes her exit.

“Technically,” Ed says once she’s out of sight, “the only one to draw blood was her.”

“Enough, Fullmetal,” Roy says tiredly.

“For once, we agree,” Olivier adds. She stands and Rebecca follows suit. “I think we should all call it a night.”

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” Rebecca says.

The inclination to ask where the hell she even came from still bites at Ed, but he decides he doesn’t want to rock the boat anymore than he already has.

“All right,” Ed says wearily. He lies back against the sand. “Tomorrow.”

 

##  **// IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //**

Both tribes are canoed to platforms that rise out from the water. Directly across from them, standing a good distance away, are red and yellow netted hoops.   

“When did these get here?” Winry wonders aloud as she steps onto the yellow platform.

From an adjacent one, Jeff Probst sits on an elevated chair, comparable to that of a lifeguard. He grins and says, “Welcome to your third immunity challenge.”

The members of the Red Tribe are almost completely gathered on their platform sans Ed who isn’t tall enough to reach.

“Damn it, Fullmetal,” Roy grunts, grabbing the boy by his automail wrist and hoisting him up. Ed stumbles onto the platform and trips over himself. He clambers to his feet, looking to the Yellow Tribe. A new burst of energy surges through him at the thought of seeing Al and Winry again.

But the suit of armor is nowhere to be seen.

Ed’s desperate eyes find Winry’s and she swallows, looking down and shaking her head. Suddenly, Ed is consumed with an emotion he cannot quite discern. It’s between betrayed, crestfallen, and downright pissed.

“Where the hell is my brother!?” he shrieks.

“Believe me, kid, I feel you,” says Greed. He looks down at his fingernails, sharpened by his ultimate shield. “I did everything I could to save him.”

Ed opens his mouth to yell something else, probably containing an expletive or two, but Olivier yanks him back and hisses, “Save that anger for the challenge.”

Jeff Probst sees this as an opportunity to redirect the attention to himself by announcing, “Today’s challenge comes with a reward in addition to immunity!”

Everyone looks his way, the shock clear on the castaways’ faces. Izumi even goes as far as to ask, “You mean you’re not going to steal it from us?”

“That’s right!” he says. “Wanna see what you’re playing for?”

He pulls out a dixie cup filled with colorful candies and holds it up. No one makes a sound. Greed quizzically points to the reward, unsure of what to make of it.

“Skittles,” says Jeff Probst.

He’s met with silence. A bird caws overhead. Jeff Probst frowns. He’d expected the castaways to fall over each other and foam at the mouth from sheer excitement.

“Anyway,” Jeff Probst adds discontentedly, “Red, I’ll be taking immunity back.”

Rebecca tosses the idol to Jeff Probst who says, “Immunity is back up for grabs. Now, for the challenge…”

He nods at the nets and says, “You’re each going to take turns diving underwater and untying a ball from where your hoop is based in the sand. Once all the balls are collected, you will take turns throwing the balls through the hoops. If you miss, you have to retrieve it. First tribe to make all seven baskets wins immunity. Simple enough?”

“For skittles?” Havoc asks warily.

“Didn’t you willingly eat sand in the last chapter?” Winry asks.

Havoc pretends he hadn’t heard her and stares forward. What transpired during the last immunity challenge wasn’t among his finer moments, he’ll admit.

Once both tribes have decided on an order and deliberated amongst themselves, the challenge begins.

“Survivors ready?” Jeff Probst asks.

“Ready,” they chorus.

“Go!” Jeff Probst yells, and they’re off.

On the Red Tribe, Rebecca is the first one to dive. Opposite her is Jean Havoc who has stripped for the occasion, looking quite desirable if you forget that he ate a meatball off the ground in Episode 2.

He takes a deep breath and goes under, swimming toward the bottom of the net. He finds seven balls tied together as promised and works at untying the first.

A few feet away, Rebecca’s nimble fingers make quick work of the knots, freeing their first ball. She takes a moment to admire Havoc’s naked chest before propelling to the surface. She gasps for air and swims powerfully to the platform, ball in hand. Her tribe mates shout words of encouragement.

“Rebecca making good time!” Jeff Probst announces. Havoc comes up a moment later.

Olivier grabs Rebecca by the arms and hoists her over the edge of the platform. Scar dives next, moving underwater like an enormous torpedo.

“Scar swimming fast!” says Jeff Probst from atop his chair.

Scar rips the ball from its netting and comes to the surface. The Yellow Tribe loses a few seconds in that maneuver, as Izumi is having trouble with her knots. When she makes it back to her platform, Roy is in the water and Riza dives in promptly thereafter.

“As always, she follows,” Rebecca says thoughtfully.

“The author of this fic is RoyAi trash, what did you expect?” Ed mutters.

Riza trails Roy’s time by seconds, but of the two, years of snapping to produce flames has rendered Roy more dexterous. He surfaces right as Riza unties her own ball and tries to catch up.

When both make it to their platforms, Roy calls out, “Guess I’m not always useless when wet, huh, Lieutenant!?”

Riza shoots him a death glare that shuts him up immediately. It says,  _I will shoot your testicals clean off your body._

“Edward in the water!” Jeff Probst yells, popping a skittle into his mouth. “Winry also in the water.”

“We can see what’s happening, you know,” Greed says irritably.

“GO, EDWARD!” Olivier calls out. “SHOW THEM HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT ALPHONSE’S DEFEAT!”

With a roar, Ed rockets through the water, moving faster than someone his size should be physically capable of moving. He yanks the strings free, holding the ball under his arm as he kicks toward the surface. He makes it back to his base, slamming the ball on the platform. Roy hoists him up. He hits the deck, dripping wet, and screeches, “YOU SELFISH, MONEY-HUNGRY BASTARDS!” He spits a mouthful of salt water onto the platform and continues, “Dirty, capitalistic slaves!”

“Capitalists?” Izumi questions.

Bradley shrugs and says, “Incidentally, I may or may not have started selling Fuhrer Bradley For Sole Survivor merch online.”

“Online?” Riza asks. “How are you–”

“My palace has wifi,” he explains. “And none of you can have the password.”

“You son of a bitch!” Greed yells as he throws himself into the water. On the other tribe, May is adept at untying knots with her tiny fingers. She surfaces moments before Greed and Olivier is in next, followed by Armstrong on the other tribe.

“Sister!” he cries, his words muffling as he submerges.

Olivier, determined to show her brother up, swims with all her might, her scream so powerful it breaks through the water and is heard by the castaways above the surface.

“Shit,” Roy says.

Alex doesn’t waste any time in undoing knots. He rips the ball free with his brutish strength. He and Olivier make it back at exactly the same time, which nauseates her.

“You coward!” she blares, slamming the ball against the platform with a gasp for air. “The only way you could catch up with me was by breaking the net!”

“Breaking the net?” Jeff Probst asks with wide eyes. He stuffs another handful of skittles into his mouth and yells, “CBS is going to charge me for that!”

Lan Fan dives into the water for the Red Tribe while Bradley lingers behind, taking his sweet time in taking off his sneakers and stretching his arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Izumi demands.

Bradley sighs as if her voice is the most pestering sound to ever cross his ears. Then, between one blink and the next, he is dripping wet, with the final ball in his hand. Without having moved.

“Pathetic,” Bradley sneers, as Lan Fan continues to untie her ball.

“YELLOW TRIBE GETTING READY TO THROW!” Jeff Probst announces through a mouthful of skittles. “Red, you’re falling behind!”

Scar grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. May takes him by the hand and says, “Good, Mr. Scar, breathe and get rid of all violent thoughts.”

“I want to feel his head explode under my hand,” Scar growls.

“I know,” May says, giving his hand a squeeze. “And you can only after the game ends. If he dies, so do our chances of winning the money.”

Scar clenches his free fist, screwing his eyes shut.  _She’s right. I must be patient._  With two million cenz, he can buy another yellow jacket. Maybe one with even more pockets. And  _zippers_. His mouth waters at the thought.

“GOD DAMN IT, HAVOC!” Riza yells, kicking the second lieutenant in the spine. He belly flops into the water, then hastily swims to retrieve the ball he did not throw anywhere near their hoop.

“RED HAS ALL THEIR BALLS!” Jeff Probst shouts.

“I beg to differ,” says Olivier, glancing down Roy’s body in disgust. With a blush, he turns away and grumbles obscenities under his breath.

By the time Havoc is back on the platform, Ed has made a basket.

“All right, Edward!” May cheers.

“You show them, Fullmetal!” Roy adds.

Ed responds by growling at the other tribe with a look so threatening, Major Armstrong nearly stumbles back into the water.

“Give me that,” Riza says, snatching the ball from Havoc’s hands. She shoots and scores, earning her murmurs of approval from her tribe mates. However, she is quickly overshadowed by Bradley who makes a shot so impossibly fast, a cluster of chewed up skittles drops from Jeff Probst’s open mouth and into the water.

Havoc glances over and involuntarily licks his lips. Riza is fast to grip his arm and say, “No.”

Bradley bought the Yellow Tribe enough time to be ahead once more. Izumi makes her shot and Armstrong quickly follows.

“Yellow has four balls in! Red still only has two!” yells Jeff Probst.

After Olivier makes a basket, Roy shoots and almost misses, to which Olivier scoffs. But the ball tips into their hoop at last.

“Good work, Colonel!” Lan Fan says, slapping his back with her automail hand. Roy hisses in pain as the scorching hot metal makes contact with his bare skin.

“Oooh,” Olivier croons. “Is the Flame Alchemist sensitive to a little heat?”

Roy whirls on her with thinned patience. “Okay,  _you know what_ –”

“Winry makes it!” Jeff Probst yells. She smiles, pleased with herself.

“Throwing wrenches at Ed’s head for so many years has given me excellent hand-eye-coordination,” she explains proudly.

May shoots, but slips on the wet platform at the last minute and falls on her face. Her ball bounces off the edge of the hoop.

“Noooo!” May cries, reaching futilely for the ball as it splashes into the water. She propels her body off of the platform and swims for it, but in that time, Yellow has made another shot.

“Yellow needs one more ball!” Jeff Probst says. He tosses a skittle into his mouth.

Scar looks down at his tattoos. Perhaps a new jacket isn’t worth all this grief. Besides, his brother gave him this arm for a greater purpose. One that will benefit humanity for generations to come. To eradicate Jeff Probst.

“I’ve had it,” Scar says. He rips the bandana off of his head and tosses it in the water. May, pulling herself back up on the platform, glances warily at it, and suddenly her eyes widen in understanding.

“Mr. Scar,” she says. She scrambles to her feet. “Don’t do it, Mr. Scar!”

“Brother, I can now see what all of this was for!” Scar roars. He dives into the water and swims savagely toward Jeff Probst’s platform.

“Scar, what–” Jeff Probst breaks off into a scream as Scar grips the leg of his chair with his arm of deconstruction. With a howl, he destroys it and Jeff Probst topples down into the water with a huge splash, skittles flying all about.

“nooO _OO_!” Havoc yells in a roaring crescendo, reaching for the raining candies. But it’s too late. They are already in the ocean, bobbing uselessly over the gentle currents.

“AUGHUGH!” Scar grips Jeff Probst’s face with his massive hand. Jeff Probst flails wildly.

“MR. SCAR!” May shrieks. She extracts a knife from one of her buns and throws. It spirals through the air and buries itself into Scar’s arm. He falls back with a bellow, blood swimming through the ocean in crimson swirls. As he sinks, Jeff Probst continues to scream, backstroking to safety–the platform from which Archer and Chimera!Tucker film.

“I’ve been wounded!” Jeff Probst cries. Archer, a pro at multi-tasking, holds the Motorola™ flip phone with one hand and hoists Jeff Probst up onto the platform with the other.

Scar surfaces, though when he does, May holds another knife in warning and commands, “Come back to the platform, Mr. Scar. Right now.”

Jeff Probst, dripping all over the wooden platform, breathes unsteadily. 

May stomps her foot. “Mr. Scar, I will  _not_  ask again!”

Finally, he complies, much to his own chagrin, and joins his tribe mates on the red platform. Everyone on Yellow can only gape, utterly flabbergasted.

“Scar,” says Jeff Probst, once he has recollected himself. The group falls dead silent. All that’s audible is the whooshing current licking up the legs of the platform.

“You used alchemy on the island,” he begins, “and–”

“Technically,” Ed mutters, “that isn’t alchemy. He completely ignored the recon–” Lan Fan smacks the back of his head with her metal hand and Ed hits the deck hard.

“Nevermind,” he gasps from the floor.

“That is forbidden,” says Jeff Probst. He dips his head. “I’m sorry, but you’re disqualified. You have sixty seconds to leave the island, otherwise, we will be forced to release the hounds.” Jeff Probst nods to Chimera!Tucker who presses a button he pulled out of thin air.

Something bubbles underwater and breaks the surface moments later. A submarine.

“The hounds are ready,” whispers Chimera!Tucker, excitement gleaming in eyes that had been dead prior to this moment.

“How in the hell is he going to leave the island in sixty seconds?” Roy wonders aloud. “We’re in the middle of the ocean.”

“Forty five seconds,” says Jeff Probst, and Scar takes one look at Chimera!Tucker before opting to adhere to these demands.

“I will see you all on the Promised Day,” says Scar, looking very thoughtfully into the distance. “Where we will work together to complete my redemption arc.”

“Thirty nine seconds,” Jeff Probst says. Scar glares at him, then dives into the water. He swims toward the sunset. His elimination confession comes in the form of a voiceover while a meaningful score plays in the background.

“ _Perhaps I was just not cut out for this_ ,” Scar’s voice says as he swims away from the island and toward a boat that shows up out of nowhere. “ _Perhaps I just let the island get to me and force me to act with irrational violence. The uncertainty of each day. The insufferable people on my tribe. And the knowledge that I was meant for greater things. Things far greater than winning a reality television game._ ”

Back on the platform, Jeff Probst says, “Even though we lost a player, we will still have tribal council tonight. In fact, because we didn’t finish the challenge, each tribe must choose a representative to play rock, paper, scissors with the other tribe. Loser’s tribe goes to tribal council. Fair?”

“Not even remotely,” Izumi says.

“Well, tough shit,” says Jeff Probst.

Over on the Red Tribe, May sits on the edge of the platform, her tiny legs dangling solemnly over the water. Edward is still on the floor from Lan Fan’s hit. Roy steps forward and says, “I’ll do it.”

“Mustang,” Rebecca begins, “I don’t think–”

“I let you guys down two challenges ago,” Roy says, squaring his shoulders confidently. “I need to set things right.” He turns to Jeff Probst and nods. “I, Colonel Roy Mustang, also known as The Flame Alchemist, also–”

“Get to the point, asshole,” Rebecca mutters.

“I will be playing for the Red Tribe,” he says, bringing his heels together and puffing out his chest.

Jeff Probst waves his hand tiredly. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Yellow?”

“Armstrong, you haven’t been part of a major plot point in this fic yet,” Izumi suggests, and everyone mumbles in agreement.

Roy tries not to let his disappointment show. He’d been hoping for Riza. Being on two different tribes was starting to give him separation anxiety and the thought of potentially tapping her hand with his finger-scissors had been somewhat exhilarating.

Roy and Armstrong stand at the edges of their platforms and face each other.

“I hope you know, Colonel,” Armstrong says, “I will not be going easy on you.”

Jeff Probst sighs heavily from where he sits. “For fuck’s sake, just go.”

Roy glances over at Riza and to his relief, she looks back. They manage another silent exchange.

Roy:  _Miss you._

Riza:  _ok_

Roy frowns at the floor. Then Armstrong bellows, “ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS!” And Roy hurriedly snaps out of his despair and smacks his fist to his palm, then makes finger scissors when Armstrong says, “Shoot!”

But Armstrong chose rock. He brings his fist down with immeasurable strength over Roy’s fingers, a sickening crunch following the motion. Roy falls to his knees with a wail, gripping his mangled hand.

“Oh, Colonel!” Armstrong says. “My deepest apologies!”

“This is just not a good week for you, is it?” Lan Fan asks, nudging her fallen ally with the tip of her toe.

“Wow,” Winry says with raised eyebrows. “Good work, Major.”

He turns to her, sparkles twinkling on either side of his face. “Why, thank you, Miss Rockbell! The art of rock, paper, scissors is a skill passed down the Armstrong family for generations!”

Olivier wants to comment that this is comprehensively untrue, but she’s too seized by fury looking at Roy Mustang’s pathetic, crumpled form.

“Well, what do you know?” Rebecca asks. “Mustang let us down  _again_.”

“Useless Colonel,” Ed mumbles from the floor.

“Yellow wins immunity,” says Jeff Probst. He looks to the water where debris from Scar’s deconstruction drifts over the currents. He leans over, fishes the idol from the wreckage and tosses it to Yellow. Havoc catches it and holds it up.

“Red Tribe,” says Jeff Probst. “I’ll be seeing you at tribal council.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to start splitting the pre-merge chapters into two parts, which I explained better on tumblr, if anyone follows me there. 
> 
> So, WHAT? WE HAD AN ELIMINATION WITHOUT A TRIBAL COUNCIL??? Honestly, Scar is far too cool for this game. He’s got important anti-hero stuff to do back in Amestris. He’s been freed. 
> 
> Things are not looking good for the Red Tribe. They’re losing all their players. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? WHO WILL BE VOTED OUT? WILL ROY BE ABLE TO EVADE ELIMINATION A SECOND TIME?
> 
> Ah. Let me know what you guys thought! Thanks a lot for reading <3


	5. Episode 3 (Part 2)

##  **YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP**

“So, uh,  _that_  happened,” says Havoc as they return to camp. Bradley makes a beeline for Riza’s pile of birds and gathers a massive heap, then high tails it to his palace without saying a word.

“Um,  _hello_!” Riza exclaims as he slams the door behind him. She looks down and there are two birds left, one of which hollowed with maggots crawling out from its eye sockets.

“Hey, guys,” says Winry. She kneels by their campfire, holding a soggy dixie cup filled with small white balls. She picks up what looks like an old Taco Bell receipt and peers at a message someone scrawled over it in crayon.

“What does it say?” Izumi asks, getting down to sit beside her.

“‘Congratulations, Yellow Tribe’,” Winry reads. She frowns and looks up. “Two out of three of these words are misspelled.”

Izumi takes the receipt and smoothes it out. She continues, “‘As promised, your skittles. Love, Jeff Probst.’”

Winry holds one between her thumb and forefinger and says, “They’re completely discolored. Did he fish them out of the ocean?”

Havoc plucks one from the cup and throws it into his mouth. Everyone groans in disgust. He chews thoughtfully, then swallows with a crumpled face.

“These fucking skittles are stale,” he says. Then he eats another.

“Havoc, stop.” Riza grabs his wrist and pulls him away. “There’s no way these are safe to eat.”

“Is this one  _chewed up_?” Winry asks, nudging a molar-imprinted cluster with her fingernail.

Riza falls to the sand, and her stomach rumbles loudly. She sighs, holding her abdomen. “I’m starving.”

“So hunt,” says Greed, snapping his fingers. “They don’t call you the Hawk’s Eye for nothing.”

“She’s already killed every bird on the island,” Havoc says, collapsing next to his teammate.

“It’s Bradley,” Riza growls, clenching her fist. “I bring more than enough game to feed everyone and he eats everything before anyone even realizes he was here.”

“If Riza can’t feed us anymore, I say we vote her out,” Havoc moans, staring in the direction of the skittle cup with misty eyes.

“Don’t call me Riza.”

“Hey, wasn’t there another bird there?” Winry asks. Everyone’s attention snaps to their bird pile and all that is left is the maggot-consumed corpse.

“When the hell did he even take it?” Izumi asks.

Greed whips his head back and sees an orangutan swing from one tree to the next.

“I fucking knew it,” he says.

He spring into action, shimmying up the nearest tree and shouting, “I see you, you filthy accomplice!”

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Izumi Curtis**

“So, I think Greed is losing it,” she says.

* * *

 

Greed disappears into the jungle, his screaming muffling as he ventures deeper. When he’s finally out of earshot, everyone exchanges a look.

“So…anyway.” Riza looks down at her dirt-caked hands. “We need to find something to eat.”

Everyone’s eyes go to the maggot bird. Drool begins to trickle from the corner of Riza’s mouth. She quickly shakes her head, disgusted with herself.

 _I’m not that desperate_ , she thinks fiercely.  _I will not eat a decomposing animal._

She forces herself to focus on something else, anything else, but her gaze wanders back to the bird, and this time, she gazes with longing.

 _Come on, just one bite_. She licks her lips.  _One bite won’t kill anyone._

“I call the corpse!” Havoc says.

“Fucking  _fight_  me for it!” Riza yells, shoving Havoc to the sand. She scrambles toward it, but Armstrong grabs her by the legs and drags her away. She screams.

“Not today, Lieutenant!” he exclaims, diving for the bird. But Winry tosses a handful of sand into his eyes. He falls back with a roar, furiously rubbing at his closed lids.

“That bird is mine,” Winry says with an evil grin. She lunges for it and Izumi tackles her away.

“No way in hell!” she gasps, reaching forward. Winry wrestles her away and while the two women grapple, Havoc takes another shot at it. Riza grabs the nearest rock and clocks him in the head. He falls unconsciously to the ground.

“Sorry, Havoc, it’s just natural selection,” says Riza. She crawls to the bird but is stopped when Armstrong crushes her body with his, shouting, “NOOOO!”

“GET OFF OF ME!” Riza crows. “ _I_  CAUGHT THAT BIRD! IT SHOULD BE MINE!”

“Over my dead body!” Winry gasps from underneath Izumi.

“That can be arranged, do not test me!” Izumi screams just as Winry grabs a hold of her wrist and bites. Izumi rolls off of her with a howl and that’s when Winry casts a puzzled glance ahead.

“Hey–wait a minute,” says Winry. And that’s when they all notice that both the bird and the skittles are gone.

Everyone releases each other at once. Riza brushes the sand off of her shirt and says, “Oh my god, look at us. We’re actually fighting each other over maggots.”

“It’s just what CBS wants,” Armstrong says.

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Izumi Curtis**

Izumi sighs, then admits, “Okay, maybe we’re all losing it.”

* * *

 

 

##  **RED TRIBE // CAMP**

“We are not voting the Colonel out,” says Lan Fan the moment they make it to camp. Everyone looks at her.

“Excuse me?” Olivier asks with a hot glare.

“He is my window to the other tribe,” she states plainly. “If you all vote for him, I promise to reduce my performance in upcoming challenges.” And with that, she makes her exit.

“We could just vote  _her_  out,” Rebecca points out.

“No, we can’t,” Ed says. He sighs, running a hand through his bangs. “Now that Scar is gone, she’s our best physical asset next to the General. We can’t afford to lose her until we’re closer to the merge.”

Roy and May catch up, the former with leaves and twigs splinting his broken hand.

“What are we talking about?” Roy asks. Olivier’s response is to take his broken hand and bend all of his fingers as far back as possible. Roy cries out and sinks to his knees. Olivier kicks his crumpled form and stomps away.

“I could fix him right away with Alkahestry,” May says with a frown. “But I’m not about to get disqualified so…tough luck.” She scampers away, though there’s a certain solemness in her steps. Like a ball when it’s only half-filled with air.

“You’re pitiful,” Rebecca says. “Only a week without Riza and you’ve already broken your hand in three places.” She steps over him and follows Olivier.

Ed nudges Roy with his foot and asks, “You alright, Colonel?”

Roy pushes himself up with his good arm and grunts, “Peachy.” Ed offers him a hand and pulls him to his feet.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ed asks.

“Plan?” Roy prods at his swollen hand and hisses in pain.

“Well, yeah,” says Ed with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve ever been stripped of your allies.” He waves his hand. “You know, a la anime canon. Surely you have something up your sleeve.”

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Fullmetal is right,” Roy says. He looks determinedly into the sun, then screws his eyes shut because it’s really damn bright. “Ah, shit. Ah.” He digs his fists into his eyes. When he looks back into the camera, he’s teared up some, but his disposition is tenacious as ever. “This island is a test. A test to prove I am worthy of being the Fuhrer of this nation. I can’t just let the tribe wak all over me. I need to show them who’s really on top here.”

* * *

 

Roy finds Rebecca and Olivier lounging under a tree. They share a coconut Olivier found earlier that week.

“General,” Roy says firmly.

“Get out of my face, Mustang,” she says without looking up. So Roy kicks the coconut out of her hands. It tumbles down a slope of sand and makes a splash into the ocean.

“What the hell!?” Rebecca shouts.

“If you’re trying to assert your nonexistent dominance, there’s no need,” Olivier says. She looks somewhat vexed when their eyes meet. “Our vote isn’t going to you tonight.”

Roy exhales the deep breath he barely realized he was holding. He plops down before the two women, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, that’s a relief.” Then his eyes narrow. “Wait…so who  _does_  have your vote?”

“I’m all in with the Fullmetal Brat,” says Rebecca, though she’s still visibly miffed by the way Mustang kicked her lunch like a soccer ball into the sea.

“Are you dwelling on the fact that he called you a d-list character?” Roy asks, to which Rebecca delivers an icy look.

“Not a bad option,” Olivier considers. She closes her eyes and steeples her fingers. “What does he bring forth that we  _really_  need?”

“He pretty much won the last challenge for us,” Roy reminds. “Despite all his shortcomings–no pun intended–Fullmetal is an expert strategist.”

“So?” Rebecca asks. “Aren’t you an alchemist too? I mean, you may look like a bumbling idiot, but you didn’t climb the ranks by dicking around.”

“That’s debatable,” Olivier mutters.

“Why not vote out that little Xingese girl?” Roy asks. He winces from the memory of her knife piercing his shoulder. “Personally, I find her just as crazy as Scar if not more. And now that he’s gone, she has no allies. It’s the perfect opportunity.”

“That’s just it,” says Rebecca. “Without Scar, she has nobody to protect her if it comes down to it. She’s a throwaway vote and I feel like getting rid of her now is a waste when we could be strengthening the tribe by weeding out the weakest members.”

Roy raises an eyebrow at her reasoning. He glances at Armstrong whose lips have quirked into a tiny grin.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Okay,” he says, looking around warily. “Is it just me, or is Rebecca becoming more Briggs as the days go by? I think her alliance with Olivier is starting to corrode her.”

* * *

 

“Edward Elric isn’t as physically fit as the rest of us,” Rebecca says with a shrug. “He’s got two missing limbs, his automail is starting to rust, the kid’s like four feet tall and loud as all hell. I say we chop him.”

“He technically wasn’t  _wrong_  when he called you a minor character,” Roy reasoned. “You can’t banish him for that.”

“He’s only the title character because he has a dead mom and a pretty face!” Rebecca explodes. The vein on her forehead begins to throb. “All he did was perform some alchemy and screw everything up. Anyone can do  _that_!”

“Alchemy is actually kind of hard,” Roy cuts in.

“Well that doesn’t give him the excuse to be an asshole!” Rebecca trills.

“Mustang is obviously our weakest link,” Olivier says, waving off their pointless banter.

“I’m sitting right here,” says Roy.

“But if we had to choose a second weakest link, then perhaps it is Edward,” she continues. “Though, May is also a viable option.”

“I stand by my decision,” Rebecca says. She and Olivier turn their attention to Roy. He inches away from their blistering gazes.

“Lan Fan is Edward’s ally,” Olivier says. She casts a glance over Roy’s shoulder where the teenagers sit by the firewood. “But her loyalty is first to you.” Her eyes come to rest on Roy’s. “Convince her to vote with us.”

“You owe us,” Rebecca adds once uncertainty begins to soften his face. “We lost the challenge because of you. Again.”

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Roy covers his face with a loud groan. “This is horseshit. Such horseshit!” He looks up. “I fucked up, okay. I was so determined to win with finger-scissors that I didn’t even realize how obvious it was that the Strong Arm Alchemist would play with rock. That challenge loss was completely preventable. I  _do_  owe the tribe. But…” he trails off, raking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think voting out Fullmetal on the merit of Catalina’s resentment is a good idea. Yeah, he’s deteriorating the longer his automail is exposed to these elements. But he’s nowhere near as large a hindrance as May Chang.” He shoves the collar of his shirt down his shoulder.

“Do you see this?” he asks harshly, exposing a swollen line of raised scar tissue. “This is a wound, okay. One that is going to mar my beautiful skin until the day I die.”

“Don’t you have a massive disfiguring burn on your stomach?” Archer asks.

“IRRELEVANT!” Roy hisses.

* * *

 

A little before they are to leave for Tribal Council, Roy finds Edward and Lan Fan standing by the shore with a pile of fish between them.

“When we return from tonight’s elimination,” says Lan Fan, “we’re going to eat well.”

Ed yanks a line out of the water, fastened to a stick as a makeshift rod, and sets the fish on the sand, watching it flop and twitch until it finally comes to a stop. He kicks it into the pile.

“I didn’t know you could fish,” says Roy.

“I know you bastards are voting for me tonight,” is how Ed responds.

Roy is taken aback. Ed and Lan Fan turn to him with matching scowls and crossed arms.

“I…” says Roy. Then he decides to do what he does best. Play dumb. “What?”

“I heard you filming your confessional just now!” Ed shouts, whacking Roy in the head with his stick. “You were literally five feet away from here!”

Roy glances back, and sure enough, the tree from which he’d filmed his confessional is plausibly within earshot. He turns back with a dejected sigh.

“Okay, so the girls want to vote for you. Doesn’t mean I’m for it,” says Roy.

“Damn right you’re not!” Ed yells, waving his automail fist over his head. “I saved your ass last time! Your debt to me is way more substantial than–”

“Debt?” Roy interrupts. “You still owe  _me_  520 cenz!”

“Are you kidding?” Ed incredulously demands. He flushes a deep scarlet. “You cheap son of a bitch! Tell you what, if I win Survivor, I’ll give you 5 _30_  cenz! But that’s not going to happen if I get voted off.”

Roy considers this.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“An extra ten cenz, huh,” he says thoughtfully. “I could probably treat my whole team to those M&M dispensers we have in the lobby of Central Command. I can even splurge for the peanut-filled ones.” He looks down with a smile. “Hawkeye loves peanuts.”

* * *

“Okay, Fullmetal, you’ve got yourself a deal,” says Roy.

Ed relaxes. He lets out a deep breath and then turns away sharply.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters.

“We’re voting for May Chang,” says Lan Fan. She glowers at Roy. “Is that acceptable, _ally_?”

Roy isn’t sure why, but that look is afflicting enough to prompt him to take a step back. A bit quickly, he says, “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

 

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

The Red Tribe waits on the bench for a good half hour before Rebecca finally speaks up. She asks, “Okay, where in the hell is Jeff Probst?”

“Did he forget tonight was Tribal Council?” May asks.

“Maybe he was tripped out because we had an elimination before the episode reached its end,” Ed suggests.

Finally, they hear a rattling. The tribe brings their attention to the walkway where Jeff Probst is rolled in via wheelchair by Alfons Heiderich.

“Oh my god,” Roy whispers.

Jeff Probst moans in pain when his chair comes to a stop. He looks back and hoarsely murmurs, “Thank you, lesser-Alphonse.”

Alfons looks back and calls, “Noah! Over here!”

Surely enough, the woman from Conqueror of Shamballa follows, throwing a suggestive wink at Ed before bringing a cup of water to Jeff Probst’s lips. He struggles trying to catch the straw with his lips and wrestles it for a few seconds before Alfons reaches over and guides it to his mouth. He takes a fatigued sip.

“What happened?” Rebecca asks.

Jeff Probst breaks into a fit of coughs, spattering water all over the front of Noah’s skirt. She jumps away in disgust.

“ _Ohhhhh_ ,” he wails. “Advil! I need Advil!”

“I have some Advil,” Alfons says, reaching into his pocket.

Jeff Probst opens his mouth and says, “Ahhh.” Alfons sets the tablet on his tongue and Noah begrudgingly brings the drink back to his mouth. He swallows the pill and whispers words of thanks.

“It was the assault,” Alfons explains.

“The assa–” Roy begins, and then he recalls Jeff Probst falling from his elevated chair into the water after Scar made confetti out of it.

 _I’m wounded!_ he’d yelled.

Everyone’s gazes shift to to the gauze wrapped around his knee. May frowns and says, “I had no idea Mr. Scar’s attack was that bad.”

“Alfons,” Jeff Probst prompts and the boy comes to face him, slowly unwrapping the gauze bandaging his knee. Jeff Probst hisses through his teeth, flinching with each movement.

“Hold still, Jeff Probst,” Alfons says gently. And at last, the gauze is removed to reveal…a perfectly sound knee.

Olivier and Rebecca exchange a look. Ed leans closer, peering through slitted eyes.

“I don’t see anything,” he says.

“C-come closer,” Jeff Probst says breathlessly. So they do. Everyone rises and surrounds the host of Survivor. At last they see it.

A scar, maybe an inch or two long, cuts across his knee. Roy gives him an irritated look. He’s gotten worse papercuts in the office.

“Is this a joke?” Olivier asks.

“Ohhh!” Jeff Probst moans. Alfons waves the tribe members away and redresses Jeff Probst’s wound.

Once everyone has returns to their seats, Jeff Probst says, “Do not let my debilitation stop you from going about this tribal council as you normally would.”

“We weren’t going to,” says Rebecca.

“Even though I know many of you wish to rush to my aid–”

“We had zero intention of doing so,” Roy says.

Jeff Probst looks rather offended by this, but he says nothing more on the matter. Instead, he sighs and says, “Let us begin.”

Alfons steps out of frame and when he returns, he is lugging a stump onto the tribal council floor. He sets it before Jeff Probst’s wheelchair and gently lifts his foot so that his leg is elevated. He reclaims his position behind him with his arms behind his back.

“Your numbers have dwindled,” says Jeff Probst. “You’re down to six players and after tonight, you’ll be a whole three bodies smaller than Yellow. That’s got to be causing some tension in the tribe.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it tension,” Olivier says. “More so irritation that despite the fact that we have eliminated so many players, a certain sack of dead weight has somehow managed to elude elimination time and time again.”

“We all know you’re talking about me,” Roy mutters.

“Excellent,” says Olivier. She crosses her ankle over her knee and leans back. “I think our performance as a tribe will increase exponentially the moment we are freed from the cancerous tumor that is Roy Mustang.”

“I agree,” says Rebecca.

“Me too,” May says.

“Really? A tumor?” Roy rolls his eyes. He looks at Lan Fan. “Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” she says.

“ _What_?”

“Roy, they have a point,” Jeff Probst says with a chuckle. “I mean, you lost the challenge. They were counting on you and you let them down a second time. How must that feel?”

Roy looks around, waiting for someone to jump to his defense. But no one does. He crosses his arms, defeated. If his team were here, surely this wouldn’t be happening.

“False,” says Olivier, and that’s when Roy realizes he’d been thinking out loud. “I took Falman and made him mine. And I can take the rest. Just you wait.” Something sinister flashes in her eyes. “Imagine how quickly Hawkeye could rise in the ranks if she were _my_  aide. She and I could rule Amestris together.”

Roy’s good hand balls into a fist. Habitually, his thumb and forefinger brush together, but without matter. He doesn’t have his ignition gloves. He glances at the torches behind them, their dancing flames casting a soft orange glow over their faces. If only he had some chalk.

 _No_ , he warns himself.  _You can’t transmute on the island. Think about the money. The M &Ms. You need to pull yourself together._

“The lieutenant is loyal,” he says through gritted teeth.

Olivier pauses, facetiously tapping her finger to her chin. Then her eyes widen. “Oh! You meant Lieutenant Hawkeye! I’m so sorry, for a moment, I thought we were talking about Lieutenant Falman who is, indeed, loyal. To  _me_.” She chuckles. “Though, of course, you may remember him as  _Warrant Officer_  Falman. A lot has changed since he’s left your command, hasn’t it?”

 _Low blow_ , Roy thinks, taking a deep breath.

“Who are they talking about?” Jeff Probst asks the Conqueror of Shamballa characters. They shake their heads in bafflement.

“Listen, I need all talk about this Lieutenant Officer Falman to cease and desist,” Jeff Probst growls, stomping his non-elevated foot. “CBS only paid enough money for the rights to the characters on this island and I don’t want Bones to sue because that lawsuit is coming out of  _my_  paycheck.  _Have I made myself clear?_ ”

Jeff Probst’s withering stare brings the hut to silence. After an awkward stretch of time where the only thing audible is the crackling fire, Jeff Probst folds his hands on his lap and calmly continues, “We’re almost to the merge and already, I can see where alliances have been formed. Do you guys feel Scar’s disqualification has diverged the tribes even farther now that there is less room for each group to expand?”

“None of us really cared about Scar,” Ed says slowly, still somewhat abashed by Jeff Probst’s outburst.

“That’s not true,” May says quietly. Everyone turns to her. She swings her small legs where they dangle off the edge of her seat. Her big eyes are fixed on her lap. “Mr. Scar was very angry, mostly at Jeff Probst, but he was a good man.” Her eyes begin to fill. “He was my friend.”

“He was disqualified, not executed,” Roy says with some exasperation.

“He was twice the man you’ll ever be!” May screams, jumping atop the bench. Tiny knives appear between her fingers and she swings her arm to throw, but is stopped by the tribe’s collective yells of protest.

“Do you  _see_  this?” Roy cries. He whirl around to face Olivier and Rebecca. “She’s psychotic!”

Rebecca shrugs. “She’s got good aim, though.”

“And good aim is more useful to us than someone conditionally strong,” Olivier says. Ed twists around with a scorching look.

“Are you kidding?” he sputters. “ _Condi_ –” He springs to his feet with indignance and faces his tribe. “I’m the reason we won the last challenge, you ungrateful bastards!”

“But what happens if your automail breaks?” Olivier asks, casually fiddling with a loose thread at the end of her shirt without a care. “Surely, you don’t expect us to accommodate you. The object of the game is to outwit, outplay, and outlast and if you’re incapacitated, our tribe can do none of those things. At least not without hindrance.”

“You’re a liability waiting to happen,” Rebecca says.

Ed is at a complete loss for words. He throws his arms in her in her direction and shouts, “Okay, seriously, who _the hell_ is she?”

“Let’s get to voting!” Jeff Probst says.

“No, no, no!” Ed says quickly. “We are not done here.”

“Yes, we are,” says Jeff Probst. “It’s been too long since anyone’s talked about me and I’m getting bored. So, Roy, you’re up.”

“I’m with Fullmetal,” he says hesitantly. “There’s still stuff to talk about”

“Like Scar’s rampage that we haven’t actually addressed,” Rebecca begins.

“UGH!” Jeff Probst kicks his stump with all his might and it rolls away. Everyone falls silent. The dimpled man breathes heavily, balling his hands into fists.

“I. Said. It’s. Time. To. Vote,” he snarls.

Everyone, including Olivier, cringes. At last, Roy rises and makes his way down the walkway, a shudder coursing through him.

He stands by the voting table and lets out a long sigh. “Armstrong has a point. The moment Ed’s automail breaks, he’s useless.” He scratches his head. “But there are ten cenz at stake here.”

He closes his eyes and groans. “What kind of surrogate father would I be if I voted the kid out?”

Finally, he writes May Chang’s name and holds it up.

“This is for you, my Fullmetal son,” he says, then places his vote in the pot.

When Roy returns, Rebecca is up. She writes Ed’s name and raises it to the camera.

“Yeah? Who’s the main character  _now_?” she hisses.

Olivier is up next. She scrawls a name and says, “In Briggs, we believe in survival.” She curls her fingers into a tight fist against the table. “And in order to survive, you need to be daring. Those are the ones who thrive and prosper.” She looks down with a chuckle. “The cautious see through a tunnel. And that very tunnel will swallow you whole.” She places her vote and strides back to her seat with a grin.

When it’s time for Ed to cast his vote, he writes May’s name in all caps. He holds it up and says, “No hard feelings. But it’s either you or me today.”

He glances at May apologetically when he sits down. She is next to vote and when she comes back, Lan Fan writes the final name.

Upon her return, Jeff Probst nods and says, “I’ll tally the votes.” And so Alfons wheels him out of frame.

The Red Tribe waits in silence as the sound of Jeff Probst’s wheelchair rolling over the rickety wooden boards fades into the distance. Then they hear a shatter and a loud swear.

“GOD DAMMMIT, HEIDERICH!”

“I’m so sorry, Jeff Probst!”

“Just…just pick up the votes!”

“Yes, Jeff Probst.”

An acerbated Jeff Probst is wheeled back onto the tribal council floor by Alfons. The former’s arms are crossed and Red’s folded votes are haphazardly piled on his lap.

“Because  _somebody_  broke the vote pot,” Jeff Probst says, glaring deliberately at Alfons who shrinks away, “I suppose I’ll be drawing them from my lap which is way less cool, aesthetically.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

He picks one up and unfolds it. “First vote.” He turns it around, “Edward.”

Jeff Probst looks at it for a moment, unsure of where to place it. Finally, he just flicks it away. Then he retrieves another. “Second vote.” He glances at it. “May.”

The young Xingese girl shows no sign of distress, however, Edward is visibly displeased, gripping the edge of his seat with his automail hand and grumbling unintelligibly under his breath.

“Ed,” Jeff Probst says, turning around a third vote. “Two votes Ed. One vote May.”

The next vote Jeff Probst reads is in a loopy script that looks peculiarly Armstrong-like. Roy draws in a quick breath, stunned.

“May,” Jeff Probst reads.

Rebecca looks to Olivier in question but she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Ed’s eyebrows knit quizzically.

“Two votes Ed,” Jeff Probst reads, “two votes May.”

May’s large eyes settle on Olivier, but she pays the girl no mind. Only flashes a soft grin at Edward, who freezes in shock once the realization sets in.

“May,” Jeff Probst reads, tossing another vote away. It glides through the air, landing gracefully on the tribal council floor. “Three votes May. Two votes Edward.”

He unfolds the final vote and says, “Fourth person voted off of Survivor: Not Amestris.” He turns it around. “May Chang. That’s four votes, it’s enough. Bring me your torch.”

“What?” May squeaks. Her lips turn into a deep frown and her large eyes fill with tears.  
“B-b-but you said Edward would be eliminated,” she says to Olivier. She tugs the older woman’s pants. “You promised.”

“I had a change of heart,” says Olivier, looking up and fixing her eyes on nothing in particular. It’s a very profound look.

May looks down and suddenly her tears morph to those of anger. She pulls out her knives and hurls them all at once. Everyone in the tribe screams. One sinks into Rebecca’s hair. The other pins Ed’s shirt to the bench. A third strikes Lan Fan’s metal arm with a clink and falls to the floor. One buries itself into Roy’s shoulder right below his last wound. He slumps to the floor with an outcry.

And the final knife heads straight for the center of Olivier’s forehead, but the General lifts her hand and catches the blade between two fingers.

She tosses it to the floor and says, “Accept your loss like a woman.”

May growls, ready to spew more words of hatred, but Jeff Probst interrupts.

“Chimera!Tucker!” he calls. “You know what to do!”

“No need!” May spits. “I’m leaving.” She grabs her torch and makes her way to Jeff Probst, stepping on Roy in the process. He curls into a ball and groans.

“May,” says Jeff Probst as Alfons hands him his special snuffing thing. “The tribe has spoken.” He lets out her flame and she leaves the tribal council hut.

When she’s gone, Jeff Probst laughs softly. “That was one crazy council, eh?” Everyone slumps in relief. Ed plucks the blade from his shirt and nudges the Colonel’s back with his flesh and bone foot.

“You going to be okay?” he asks.

“Uhhaauhgh,” Roy whimpers.

“One more elimination until we merge,” Jeff Probst says. “Think you guys can make it until then?”

Roy rolls over and yanks the knife out. He lets it clatter to the floor as blood slowly leaks from his new wound.

“Get some rest. I’ll see you guys at the next challenge.” Jeff Probst whistles and Alfons begins to wheel him out.

* * *

** Post-Tribal Council Confessional: May Chang **

“It’s fine,” she says, waving off the cameras as they follow her out. “When I gain immortality and become ruler of Xing, none of this will even matter. And when it comes to trading and other international affairs, guess which country is not getting my sympathy? It doesn’t matter how cute Alphonse Elric is. Amestris is my enemy.”

“That kind of contradicts the canon,” Archer begins. “You help the protag–”

“ _Screw the canon_!” she throws a knife at Archer and it sticks him in the thigh. He collapses with a scream.

* * *

 

 **Votes** :

Olivier: May Chang  
Ed: May Chang  
May: Edward Elric  
Rebecca: Edward Elric  
Roy: May Chang  
Lan Fan: May Chang


	6. Episode 4 (Part 1)

## RED TRIBE // CAMP

After a long, somewhat chaotic Tribal Council, the remaining members of the Red Tribe choose to retire for the evening. All except Edward and Roy who sit together by the shore. Because what’s more profound and unifying than sitting by a shore?

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Listen.” Ed waves his automail hand. “I need to win this game. I’m thousands of cenz in debt after Ling’s room service rampage and at this rate, I’m almost willing the let Father kill us all just so I can get out of paying it.” He shakes his head. “See, I don’t want to resort to that. I refuse to die before I outgrow Winry. One thing is dying a virgin on the brink of poverty, another is dying a  _short_  virgin on the brink of poverty. And I just can’t have that. The Colonel may be a pain in my ass, but he’s devious. And at this point, I am not above using him as a step-ladder to the end.”

* * *

“Look, let’s not delude ourselves,” says Ed. “If we make it to the merge, you’re going to ally with Hawkeye and I’m going with Winry now that Al has been voted off.”

“True.” Roy rubs his aching shoulder with a wince and stretches out his legs. Who knew playing Survivor would be more physically afflicting than overthrowing the government? He looks at Ed. “But what does that have to do with now?”

“Nothing, really,” says Ed. “That’s the point. I think you and I should look out for each other until then. No strings attached, you know. We’ll take each other to the merge, but once we’re vying for individual immunity, we break off.” He leans over, lowering his voice. “Besides, we’re obviously the smartest people on this tribe. If we put our brains together, we’ll make it far.”

“There’s one challenge left until the merge,” Roy points out. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”

“You’re the tribe pariah and I’m dangling by a thread,” says Ed with a shrug. “If we lose this immunity challenge, one of us is getting the boot because Lan Fan no longer has a reason to keep you and my intellect is going to be seen as a threat. But if we work together, we can guarantee our own safety.”

“Fair enough,” Roy concedes. Then he chuckles. “So, Fullmetal, do you have a plan?”

Ed smirks wickedly. “Well, Colonel, I believe manipulation is  _your_  expertise.”

The next morning, Lan Fan stumbles upon Ed and Roy face down on the shore. She screams, effectively waking up the rest of the tribe who comes rushing over.

“What, what!?” Rebecca slurs, still half-asleep as she stumbles her way. She reaches up and plucks a twig from her dirty hair with a grimace.

Olivier, on the other hand, still looks just as fabulous as she did on Day 1. Her blond hair is luscious and voluminous as ever, curling at the ends as if she just walked off the set of an ABC Family drama.

“Edward and the Colonel are dead!” Lan Fan cries. Olivier and Rebecca rush to Ed’s aid, turning the boy on his back. He’s soaking wet and covered in sand. His shirt, as well as clumps of muck and seaweed, cling to his body.

“Edward!” Lan Fan slaps him with her metal hand and his eyes dart open. He sits up and begins to cough, water dribbling down his chin. Olivier and Rebecca exhale in relief.

“The hell?” he asks between coughs. He turns toward Roy and yells, “Colonel, wake up!”

Roy rolls groggily to his side and spits a mouthful of water. His eyes crack open and he sees everyone crowded around Edward. He’s instantly offended.

“What the fuck?” he demands. “Did no one think to check if  _I_  was alive?”

“We didn’t care,” Olivier says flatly.

“We must have fallen asleep here,” Ed says through a yawn. He stretches his arms over his head.

Roy looks over at the area on which he and Ed drew their coded plan. Peering at the abstract shapes, he tries to remember what they even mean.

 _It’s like alchemy notes!_  Roy had declared _, We have to code our plan so that nobody else can understand it!_

 _Brilliant_ , Edward agreed as he traced squiggles into the sand with a stick.

Roy sighs, running his hands through his wet hair. Decisions made after 2AM were never good ones. They hadn’t even agreed upon what each shape was supposed to represent. In fact, they didn’t even discuss a plan. After a certain point, the two were just giggling, playing hangman in the sand and making the stick figure look like people they knew.

 _Fullmetal, guess who this is!_  Roy had said, pointing to the little hangman. Only his head was drawn, with two crooked circles within it.

Ed stared at it for a long while before saying,  _I don’t know. Is it you?_

 _No!_  Roy beat his sand drawing with the stick.  _It’s Grumman! Look at the glasses! I drew glasses!_

Roy pushes himself into a sitting position, dimly aware of the fact that he’s just as wet and sandy as his subordinate.

“Well, if we’re done fussing, someone should start a fire for breakfast.” Olivier turns on her heel and begins to stride away, Rebecca in tow.

 

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“Personally, I feel many of my tribe mates are beneath me,” she says. “You put a soldier from Briggs on this island, they would have won the game by now. My men, they find a way. By day 3, Buccaneer would have disposed of Jeff Probst and taken to hosting the show himself.”

She crosses her arms. “The only reason I haven’t played to my most conniving capacity is because I want to win this fair and square.” The General smiles. “And I want to watch Mustang  _squirm_  while I do.”

* * *

 

 

 

## YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP

“Like this, Lieutenant,” says Izumi as she tosses a line into the ocean.

Riza stands dangerously close to the edge of the rock she and Izumi have situated on. She gets down on her knees and peers over, mystified.

“What’s happening?” Riza asks quietly.

“We’re waiting,” Izumi explains.

“Fascinating.” Riza leans forward an inch more but Izumi grips her by the back of her shirt and pulls her back.

“You’re going to fall in!” she chides.

“But I  _can’t see_  what you’re doing!” Riza argues.

“You don’t have to see! You  _feel_.”

“How the hell are you going to catch something without--” Riza falls silent as Izumi’s line is tugged from underwater.

Izumi pulls her string and what emerges is a fish, impaled on her hook. She reels it in and sets the flopping animal on their rock. Riza stares in astonishment.

“See?” Izumi tosses the fish into a basket she fashioned out of twigs. “Fishing.”

“You didn’t even have to shoot anything,” Riza observes with wide eyes. Then she begins to panic.

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“Okay, okay.” Riza closes her eyes and exhales a slow breath. “So Izumi can provide for everyone without inhumanly good aim. That’s alright. It’s alright.” She laughs nervously, bouncing on her heels. “I just have to find something new to offer is all. Come on, Hawkeye, think. You’re a gifted sniper, but what else do you have going for you?”

“Nothing,” whispers Chimera!Tucker.

“I’m loyal,” Riza lists, counting off on her fingers. “I’ve got good eyes. Uh. Wow. Oh god.” She brings her fingers to her temples and screws her eyes shut. She chuckles, burying her fingers into her hair.

“This is fine,” she assures herself in a sing-song voice. “Nothing is wrong.”

* * *

“Hey,” Havoc asks. “Does anyone else think Hawkeye is teetering off the edge of insanity, or is it just me?”

Greed and Armstrong shift their eyes to the Confessional Tree where Riza is pacing nervously, hiccuping between anxious giggle fits.

“I don’t like how long she’s been standing by that tree,” Greed says. He looks down in speculation, then proclaims, “Yeah, that tree is going to be mine effective immediately.”

“What are we talking about?” Winry asks, dumping an armload of bananas before the group.

“Some people really weren’t cut out for this,” Havoc says with a deep sigh. He shrugs his shoulders. “A few days without food and minimal water is just too much to handle.”

Winry stares at him. “In the week and a half we’ve been here, you’ve cried yourself to sleep, eaten sand, been physically incapacitated several times, and passed out at the sight of maggots.”

“Okay, yeah, but Hawkeye is  _giggling_ ,” Havoc points out, nodding in her direction. Winry frowns, failing to see how one thing equates to the other.

“You’re right,” Armstrong says. “It is rather out of character for her.”

“You sure that’s not just lazy writing from the author of this fic?” Greed asks tiredly.

“No, no, it’s definitely the island,” says Havoc, watching her closely. “And probably the fact that she literally does not know how to be anything other than a soldier. You take Hawkeye’s guns away, what is she?”

“A complex human being with a tragic history and profound driving forces?” Winry says with a raised eyebrow.

“Dead weight,” says Havoc as if Winry hadn’t said a word. “And I think we should get rid of her.”

“Isn’t she your ally?” Greed asks with some disgust. “You’re just going to toss her like that?”

“Is it because she ran out of things to shoot?” Winry asks.

“You selfish bastard,” Greed says.

“Lieutenant Havoc, I am appalled,” Armstrong adds. “How could you just dispose of her this way? After all she’s done for the tribe.”

Havoc looks down with balled fists.

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Jean Havoc**

“I love Hawkeye,” Havoc says. “I sincerely love her. She’s like a sister to me. And if you put us on the field, I would take a bullet for her.” He glares at the camera. “But this is Survivor and we can’t afford to fuck around. We’re so close to the merge I can taste it and she just has way too many friends on Red. Mustang and Rebecca will protect her. Their allies will be on board. Hell, everyone on  _this_ tribe loves her. We can’t give her that kind of power. She’s a secondary character. We can’t let a secondary character win Survivor! That’s just absurd.”

Havoc thinks for a moment, then concedes, “Yeah, okay, I realize I’m also technically a secondary character. But have you seen my biceps? That alone grants me the same eligibility as the little Boss or the Colonel.”

* * *

 

After a significant wave of tension has befallen the group, Bradley wordlessly joins them. He takes two bananas and tosses one over his shoulder to the orangutan Greed chased in the previous chapter. The primate gleefully accepts and leaps into a tree with his offering. Bradley begins to eat his own, chewing in a slow, menacing manner.

“Okay,” says Winry. “I think we need to have a talk.”

Bradley swallows the remains of his banana and drops the peel on the area of sand between himself and Greed. The homunculus takes a slow, even breath, willing himself to remain calm.

Then Bradley grabs a second banana.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Greed demands.

Bradley bites and takes his time in chewing. Twenty or so seconds later, he swallows. “The reason this tribe continues to prosper.”

Greed turns a vibrant shade of red, heat and fury beginning to bubble in the center of his chest.

 _Now, now_ , says Ling inside his head.  _Don’t do something you’ll regret._

“Listen, brat, you can’t control me!” Greed snarls. Everyone flinches, unsure of who he is referring to, except Bradley who continues to chew stoically.

 _If you hurt him,_  Ling reminds,  _You may be disqualified. And I_ want _that trampoline, Greed. Don’t screw this up!_

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your trampoline!” Greed shouts. He rises to his feet, kicking at a pile of sand that explodes in Havoc’s face. He cries out, scratching at his eyes.

“Perhaps Greed is the one whose sanity is wearing thin,” says Bradley.

“How did you even know we were talking about that?” Winry asks.

“I have eyes all over this island,” Bradley says.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Greed stops in front of Bradley, trembling with rage. “And for  _your information_ , I have remained perfectly sane throughout this whole ordeal! Want to know why? Because I’m  _at home_! Because there isn’t a single thing on this island that I don’t own! You’re welcome for that palace!” He turns on the others, “You’re welcome for those bananas! You’re welcome for the goddamn rash on your neck, Armstrong!”

Armstrong scratches the red splotch at the nape of his neck uncertainly.

“And when I win Survivor, I’m doing it merely out of principle!” he continues. “To formally broadcast  _that which has always been true_!”

“Dude, calm down,” Havoc says. “This is why you have no friends.”

Greed feels all the air escape his lungs. His stomach hollows, and for a moment, it feels as if he’s been completely disemboweled. Within him, Ling makes a  _tsk_  sound.

He opens his mouth to retaliate, but his throat feels tight suddenly. So instead, he turns on his heel and stalks away.  

 

* * *

**Yellow Tribe Confessional: Greed**

“Friends?” Greed says with a sneer. “That’s a load of crap. I don’t have friends. I have followers. Henchmen. Which are far better than friends.” He looks down and swallows the knot that has formed in his throat.

* * *

 

 

## // IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //

Both tribes converge once again at the location of their challenge. When all of Red is in view, the members of Yellow survey its members, realizing May Chang was eliminated.

Roy and Riza lock eyes for another silent conversation. She throws a questioning glance at his wounded shoulder.

Roy:  _Long story._

Riza:  _How the hell did you survive before I joined the military?_

The castaways stand at the top of a hill with two adjacent slip n’ slides spilling out into the ocean. A few feet away, there are tables with locked wooden chests set on their surfaces.  

Jeff Probst stands with his hands on his hips, inexplicably able-bodied once again.

“Welcome to your final immunity challenge as tribes!” he announces. “How are you guys feeling?”

“Hungry,” says Havoc.

“Irritated,” Olivier adds.

“You were in a wheelchair, like, two days ago,” Ed mutters under his breath.

“So, let’s not waste anymore time!” Jeff Probst says hurriedly, opting not to address Ed’s remark. He points at the slip n’ slides. “Your challenge today was supposed to be sponsored by Wham-O™ but due to my medical expenses from the injuries I sustained during the last challenge, we had to cut our budget by about 84%. So instead, I had some crew members put these babies together using Great Value garbage bags and 99 Cent Store pool noodles.”

The castaways stare at the contraptions in utter consternation. Winry points uncertainly to one and asks, “Is this safe?”

“Possibly,” says Jeff Probst with a shrug.

“ _Possibly_?”

“Look, I had 03!Sloth test one of these out a few minutes before you got here and she’s perfectly fine,” Jeff Probst says.

“She’s a sentient philosopher’s stone and can turn to water at will” Ed shrieks. “Of course she was fine!”

“Yellow, I’ll be taking Immunity back,” Jeff Probst says, waving the kid off. Winry tosses him the idol and he places it on the podium that stands behind him. “Immunity is back up for grabs.”

“For your challenge,” he goes on, “you’re each going to take turns going down the slip n’ slide. Then you’re going to swim to the packages floating in the water,” he points to where red and yellow squares bob over the slow current. “You will retrieve one, bring it back, and set it on that table. Once all the boxes are collected, one person is going to solve a riddle with the number tiles found in those packages. If they solve correctly, that combination will open the chest. First tribe to open their chest wins immunity.”

“Okay,” Rebecca says. “But  _is this safe_?”

“Yellow,” says Jeff Probst. “You have two extra tribe members. Who’s sitting out? You cannot sit the same person out twice in a row.”

Yellow contemplates among themselves for a moment.

“I volunteer,” says Winry. “No way I’m touching that death slide.”

“Fair enough,” Riza says. She looks at Greed and says, “You don’t look well. You want to sit this one out?”

Greed looks up with wide eyes. “I...don’t look well?”

“You haven’t been yourself since the other day,” Winry replies. “It’s like you’ve been in a haze.”

“You really should,” Izumi says, her eyes softening maternally. “The rest of us will be fine.”

Greed looks at his tribe mates, overcome with emotions he cannot discern. He sniffs, realizing how close he is to crying again. He swallows quickly and nods.

“Alright,” he says tightly. “Yeah, I’ll sit it out.”

He and Winry walk toward the bench and as he does, he thinks,  _They...they_ care _about me?_

 _Well, duh,_  says Ling.  _They’re on the protagonist side. Protagonists love antiheroes._

“Winry and Greed sitting out,” Jeff Probst announces. “So choose who’s going to be manning the puzzle station and we’ll get started!”

A couple of minutes later, the tribes have deliberated and separated their players. Jeff Probst looks toward the tables and says, “Izumi solving the Yellow Tribe’s puzzle.” He glances at the other. “Roy solving for Red. Two masters at alchemy. This should be interesting.”

“Please,” Olivier snorts. “We only put Mustang on the puzzle because he’s too battered to be trusted with anything physical.”

“My hand would have healed by now had you not bent my fingers!” Roy shouts. 

Olivier scoffs, choosing to ignore him. She stands at the front of the line with Riza at the front for Yellow.

“For Immunity,” says Jeff Probst. “Ready, set--”

“But  _IS THIS SAFE_?” Havoc asks one more time.

“GO!” Jeff Probst says, and the two women throw themselves on the slide. Riza instantly regrets it as a rock cuts through the bag and slices her stomach. It slows her momentum some and when she makes her splash into the water, a smoky trail of blood drifts between the currents. She ignores the sting from the salt water contact and swims for the bag.

“Olivier in the water!” Jeff Probst yells as the General slips off the edge, glides through the air, and dives gracefully into the ocean. She swiftly grabs her bag and rushes back to the shore.

“Great!” Riza growls as she clambers up the hill with her package. “One more scar to add to the collection.”

“Riza back on land! Olivier seconds ahead!” Jeff Probst yells.

The two women run up the incline, but Olivier is just a little faster. She slams her package with such force that Roy’s table rattles under his hands. He jumps back in alarm.

“Don’t fuck this for us, Mustang!” she yells. Ed dives next, slipping with incredible speed until his metal leg slices the bag somewhere toward the bottom. He curses loudly as he flops into the water.

Armstrong hits the water next, a few fresh wounds opening up on his stomach from the ride down.

From the bench, Winry gapes in horror. Jeff Probst settles in between her and Greed and rolls his shoulders.

“Say, Winry, can you rub my back?” he asks.

“People are getting hurt!” she exclaims, bewildered.

Jeff Probst’s gaze flickers to the challenge and back. Ed makes it back up, tossing his package on Roy’s table. Over on the Yellow Tribe, Bradley leaps onto the slide, shooting down into the water with immeasurable speed. He dashes to the yellow package and does a gravity-defying backflip out of the water, impossibly landing at the very top of the hill. By the time that maneuver is completed, Lan Fan has just thrown herself on the slide.

“Yellow, ahead once again!” Jeff Probst calls out. “Red losing time!”

Havoc is in the water by the time Lan Fan begins. He swims back, charging up the hill with his package.

“No,” Lan Fan gasps, just as her legs are sliced by underlying rocks and twigs. She lands in the water, bloodied, and swims for her package. But despite her injuries, she handsprings it back up the hill, somersaulting gracefully to their table. She leaves her package with Roy.

“IZUMI READY TO START THE PUZZLE!” Jeff Probst yells as Rebecca slides down to retrieve Red’s final package.

Izumi takes to emptying the packages, yellow tiles clattering against the table. She reads the riddle carefully and begins arranging her pieces.

“GO, IZUMI!” Riza screams, holding her stomach. Blood soaks through her shirt and seeps out from between her fingers.

“YOU’VE GOT THIS!” Havoc cheers, jumping and pumping his fists in the air.

“The product of the two outer-middle numbers,” Izumi murmurs to herself, “is the sum of the two middle numbers plus eight. The outer numbers equal the difference of the second and third number.”

She arranges the numbers swiftly, doing the math in her head.

Rebecca tosses the last package at Roy and he immediately begins dumping his tiles.

“Roy on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst yells.

“Let’s go, Colonel!” Ed shouts.

Roy reads the riddle with deep concentration and arranges his tiles quickly. Riza watches him and swears. The others look at her.

“You guys don’t get it,” she says. “When he started training under my father, he sucked royally at math so my father refused to teach him alchemy until he memorized his times tables like a fourth grader. After that, he’d just start multiplying everything for fun. At dinner, he’d say, ‘Riza, can you pass me three times four green beans?’ like a total douchebag.”

“Damn it,” Havoc mutters. “We have to distract him somehow.” Everyone looks Riza up and down and she blanches.

“You’re his weakness,” Bradley says.

“Hell no!” Riza protests.

“Come on!” Havoc exclaims. “Just blow him a kiss or something. He’ll melt like butter.”

In the time they discuss this, however, Izumi says, “I THINK I HAVE IT!”

“Alright!” the Yellow tribe members chorus. Riza sighs in relief.

However, just as Izumi is about to input the combination, she keels over and vomits massive amounts of blood.

That gives Roy the extra second he needs to slide the final tile into place. He rushes to the chest and locks in the combination. Blood continues to pour from Izumi’s mouth. She groans loudly and the Yellow Tribe can do nothing but gaze in despair.

Roy opens his chest, proving that his combination was correct. Out fly a flock of snowy white doves.

“You mean to tell me we could afford doves but not a real slip n’ slide?” Winry asks dryly. “They’re literally eleven dollars each if you buy them on Amazon.”

“RED TRIBE WINS IMMUNITY!” Jeff Probst announces, standing up.

Izumi wipes her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. She shoots her tribe mates an apologetic look.

“Dammit,” Havoc groans.

“So close,” says Armstrong, clenching his large fist.

“Ugh.” Riza sinks to her knees and collapses to the sand. She curls up tiredly.

Over by the Red Tribe, everyone is perplexed. Speechlessly, they stare at Roy. Even Olivier’s jaw has dropped.

“How was that, guys?” he asks with a smile.

“He…” Rebecca closes her eyes, trying to process this. “He  _won_  the challenge for us.”

Roy extends his arms so that his tribe mates can lift him over their heads the way the did Ed during their last challenge win. But everyone turns away, ignoring him. He frowns.

He meets Riza’s eyes, only slightly quizzical as to why she’s bleeding all over the floor.

Roy:  _Look, Lieutenant! I won!_

Riza:  _Fuck you, sir._

Roy won’t ever admit how much that wounds him. But, boy, does it wound him. He drags his feet toward Jeff Probst who presents him with the immunity idol.

“Congratulations,” he says.

“Do we get a reward, at the very least?” Roy asks.

“You were supposed to,” says Jeff Probst. “But we spent all of your reward budget on the doves.”

“You  _what_?” Ed sputters.

“How does that make any sense?” Olivier demands.

“Didn’t they look so pretty?” Jeff Probst asks. He walks over to Izumi’s box and punches in the combination. Another flock of doves flies out. He looks up with a smile.

When he looks back at the others, they stare acidly at him. He shrinks away, muttering, “Don’t take everything so personally, will you? It’s just a game.”

“Almost everyone was wounded,” Winry says. “Is CBS going to pay for  _their_  medical treatment?”

Jeff Probst begins to laugh. “Medical treatment?” He shakes his head. “Oh, no. You have to tough it out. That’s all part of the game of outwit, outplay, outlast.”

“Exposure can literally kill us,” says Riza from the ground.

Jeff Probst rolls his eyes. “Please, you’re all anime characters. You can’t die realistically.”

“If someone gives me a some ignition,” Roy offers, “I’ll cauterize everyone’s wounds!” He begins to draw a transmutation circle in the sand with his foot.

“No!” Havoc and Riza say together.

“Just an idea,” Roy mumbles, kicking sand over his half-drawn circle.

“At any rate,” Jeff Probst says, growing more and more bored the longer they stand here. “I’m off to get a mani-pedi and a massage so, Yellow, I’ll see you at tribal council.”

He winks and makes his way to the Yacht that has pulled up by the shore. He hops in and zooms away.


	7. Episode 4 (Part 2)

The Red Tribe comes back to a surprise waiting at camp. By their campfire, they see a manila envelope with a letter stuck to its front. Ed picks it up with uncertainty. On a sheet of lined paper, there is a message scribbled in bright orange gel pel.

“What the hell does this say?” Ed asks, peering at the lettering. Then he runs his hand over the letter’s surface, grimacing as it feels rather mushy toward the middle. He gently peels the letter back and screams, “Did he use  _gum_  as an adhesive!?”

“Uh,” Roy takes the package from him and narrows his eyes in concentration. He reads, “Congratulations, Red Tribe. You’ve won the challenge. Please accept this reward, courtesy of CBS.”

Roy opens the envelope and his expression dulls. He rifles through its contents and mutters, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Lan Fan asks. She pulls the envelope from his grasp. “What did…” She trails off and sighs heavily.

Inside, there are five glossy professional photos of Jeff Probst, autographed by the Survivor host himself. In one, he wears nothing but a speedo and points to the camera with a wide grin. In a black and white headshot, he stares dramatically into the distance. Another photo depicts Jeff Probst surfacing from the ocean, arms over his head, with a soft, blissful smile. Lan Fan drops the photos in the middle of the fire pit and says, “Excellent. We have additional materials to burn.”

“Which reminds me,” Olivier says. “I’m going to go catch some fish for dinner. Flame Alchemist, make yourself useful and start a fire.”

“I’ll help,” says Ed, following the General to the shore. “Modesty aside, being on that island with Al for our alchemy training really has come in handy since we started this game.”

As they leave, Lan Fan and Rebecca look to Roy expectantly. He stares back in puzzlement.

“What?” Roy asks.

“Aren’t you going to start the fire?” Rebecca asks.

Roy begins to feel warmer than usual. He breaks out into a sweat. “And take the honor away from you ladies? No way.”

“I don’t mind,” Rebecca says, plopping into a sitting position on the ground. “Besides, I don’t even know  _how_  to start a fire.”

“It isn’t a skill I ever felt necessary either,” Lan Fan says with a shrug. She gets down next to Rebecca, and the two women’s eyes settle on Roy once again.

He blanches, casting his gaze over his shoulder where Ed and Olivier have started fishing. Roy takes a gulp.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Roy chuckles anxiously. He plucks at the collar of his shirt to cool his sweat-dampened chest. “See, Fullmetal has always been the one to start the fires.”

* * *

 

Something reprehensive finds Rebecca’s eyes. “You don’t know how to start a fire, do you?”

Roy sinks to his knees, digging his fists into the sand. At last, he lets out a pitiful, “No.”

Lan Fan stares at him. She shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“I’ve never  _needed_  to learn how to start a fire,” Roy insists. He grips his hair. “Come on, would  _you_? With a pair of special gloves and the right chemical manipulation, I could set fire to the rain!”

* * *

 

When Olivier and Ed return, Roy lies face down on the sand, making strange whimpering noises while Lan Fan and Rebecca rub dry twigs together to try and create a spark.

“Okay, what the hell happened?” Ed asks.

“The Colonel is useless,” says Lan Fan, tossing a pebble back. It bounces off his head. He lets out a muffled cry.

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

She shakes her head with overwhelming perplexity. “I don’t even know what to say at this point. It’s passed the point of amusing and is now only sad.”

* * *

 

That night, the members of Red sit around the fire before bed, actually being somewhat civil to one another. Olivier prods at the firewood with a long stick and admits, “You all aren’t so bad.”

Roy looks up, surprised, until she continues, “Of course, that’s excluding Mustang who is, indeed, horrible.” He frowns.

“Yeah,” Ed agrees. He starts to laugh a bit. “You know, when we were first sorted, I was pissed since Al, Winry, and Teacher were all on the other tribe. But I’ve gotta say, I’ve kind of liked our dynamic. Ganging up on Kimblee, roasting Mustang, making May cry, it’s been a blast.”

“We’re kind of like a little family,” says Rebecca with a smile. She leans her head on Olivier’s shoulder, who immediately shoves her away. Rebecca hits the sand with a grunt.

“Yeah, I don’t see how we’re a family,” Roy says. “One person on this tribe stabbed me, another broke my fingers, and everyone else has been emotionally abusive.”

“Oh, shut up,” Olivier says, rolling her eyes. “You whine so much for someone who, despite all odds, has made the merge.”

“And if you weren’t such a sorry excuse for a man, maybe we wouldn’t abuse you,” Rebecca says, pushing herself up from the ground.

Roy looks to Ed and Lan Fan for support, but Ed looks suspiciously interested in a nearby tree, casually whistling in its direction.

Lan Fan merely shrugs and says, “I don’t need you anymore. I no longer have a reason to come to your defense.”

Roy crosses his arms and grumbles, “Yeah? Well, let’s see who’s laughing when I’m Fuhrer of this nation.”

“When  _I_  become Fuhrer,” Olivier says with confidence, “your miniskirt law will be passed. However, with alterations. Meaning, the only one required to adhere to it is you.”

“ _What_?”

“Oh come on, it’s not like I’m going to make you grow a mustache or something,” Olivier says. The entire tribe shudders at the thought.

“Anyway,” Ed says, leaning back and grinning fondly, “a lot’s going to change after tonight.”

“Who do you think Yellow is voting out?” Rebecca asks. She rubs her hands together. “Let’s make bets!”

“If they have any sense, they’ll vote Alex,” Oliver says, flipping her hair.

“I’m going Bradley,” Ed says. “They’d be stupid to keep him at this point.”

“I think it’s possible they’ll vote out the Lieutenant,” says Lan Fan, and Roy’s entire demeanor turns to steel.

“And why,” Roy growls, “pray tell, would you say  _that_?”

“If they’re beginning to see this for the social game it is, they’ll know that Bradley is universally hated while the Lieutenant has many potential allies on this tribe,” Lan Fan explains.

“That’s true,” Ed realizes. He chuckles. “Everyone loves Hawkeye. Maybe it  _would_  be prudent to cut her while it’s safe.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Roy exclaims, scarlet flooding his cheeks. “Lieutenant Hawkeye is resourceful, brilliant, loyal, and an overall incredible asset to this island! Who in their right mind would vote her off?”

Olivier bursts out laughing. Rebecca looks supremely uncomfortable. Ed and Lan Fan lean away, giving each other a leery sideways look.

Finally, Lan Fan says, “I was only kidding, but oh my lord.”

Sheepishly, Roy clears his throat and straightens up. Then he laughs. “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

**Red Tribe Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Once, when we were young,” Roy says a bit stiffly, “Hawkeye came into the study and said, ‘Mr. Mustang, I’m ordering takeout. Do you like spicy noodles?’ and me, being the cool older guy, said, ‘Yeah. The spicier the better.’” Roy swallows and looks down. “I cried for twenty minutes after the first bite.” He perks up a bit, “But she gave me a glass of water and a tissue. She was so in love with me. It was kind of embarrassing.”

* * *

 

“I’m just going to say this.” Olivier tosses her stick into the fire. She watches it get devoured by flames. “None of you are half of what my Briggs men are. But if any of you end up winning instead of me, I’ll be satisfied.”

“But not me,” Roy says.

“Not you,” she agrees.

“Aw, General,” Rebecca gushes, extending her arms for a hug that Olivier pointedly ignores.

“However, we’re vying for individual immunity,” Olivier continues. “And now, it’s every man for themselves. And, believe me, I will  _not_  lose.”

“Alright, General,” Ed says. “You play your hardest, and I promise to play my hardest too.”

“Me as well,” says Lan Fan.

“Same,” Rebecca chimes in.

Roy opens his mouth to agree, but says nothing because he’s learned the ways of his tribe by now.

Instead, he says, “Tomorrow’s a new day.”

 

##  **YELLOW TRIBE // CAMP**

Once the Yellow Tribe returns from their challenge and Bradley retreats to his palace, the others take a moment to deliberate what is surely going to be a long, multifaceted decision.

“We’re voting out Bradley, right?” Havoc asks.

“Yep,” says Izumi.

“For sure,” says Riza.

“Most definitely,” says Armstrong.

“About fucking time,” says Greed.

“Thank god,” says Winry.

 

 

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

Jeff Probst stands at his usual podium when the Yellow Tribe makes it to the tribal council hut. He emits a strong coconut scent, which might be equated with the oily look of his skin.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Havoc says.

“I’m going to tell you anyway,” says Jeff Probst. He rubs over his arms and explains, “bubble bath. The most luxurious soaps and oils found on this island. And I only had to cut our show budget by another ten percent.”

“Okay,” says Winry. “Someone needs to talk to this guy about prioritizing.”

“The cut on my stomach is starting to turn a weird shade of green,” Riza says. “And you spent ten percent of our budget on a  _bubble bath_?”

Jeff Probst raises his palms with a laugh. “Whoa, now. Sounds like you guys haven’t taken the loss very well.”

“I’m oozing pus in strange places,” says Havoc.

“We can’t win this game if we’re dying from exposure,” Izumi says with a hot glare.

Jeff Probst’s hands go to his hips. “Well, not with  _that_  attitude.”

Greed lunges for Probst, but Armstrong holds him back. The homunculus writhes and flails under his hold with a savage growl.

“So, let’s reflect,” says Jeff Probst as Armstrong forces Greed into his seat. The rest of the tribe follows suit.

“Yeah, let’s not,” says Havoc. “We already know who we’re voting for.”

Everyone murmurs in agreement, except for Bradley whose face remains stony as ever. His leery gaze flickers over his tribe mates, prompting a few to cringe.

“No can do!” says Jeff Probst. He pulls a stack of paper out of nowhere and slams it on the podium. “See, I’m contractually obligated to lead at least ten minutes of scripted banter before the voting takes place.”  

“No, you’re not,” says Greed tiredly, “on account of that contract being  _mine_. As well as the entity of CBS.”

“Greed, you do not  _own_  CBS!” Winry says with exasperation. “In fact, you don’t even have full ownership of the body you’re possessing.”

Greed reels back as if he were whacked in the chest. He grips his shirt fiercely, right over his heart, and begins to tremble.

 _No_ , Ling thinks exhaustedly.  _You’re not going to make a scene._

“Did you hear what she said to me?” Greed demands. “The audacity!”

 _Greed, I’m not fucking around. I_ will _take over this body if you don’t behave right this minute._

Armstrong puts a large hand on Greed’s shoulder and says, “Count how many seconds it takes to inhale and exhale twice as long. It’s a breathing technique passed down the Armstrong–”

Greed rips his bandana off his arm and stuffs the entire thing into his mouth. He bites down on it to keep from screaming. Riza, seated next to him, scoots away.

“Why don’t we talk about that challenge?” Jeff Probst prompts. “Izumi, you really dropped the ball there, didn’t you?”

“Eh,” she says with a shrug.

“Eh?” Jeff Probst questions.

“I mean, it happens,” Winry explains.

“Everybody makes mistakes,” says Havoc

“To condemn a woman for an unavoidable mishap is simply barbaric!” Armstrong’s eyes flood with tears. “Under the circumstances, Mrs. Curtis did the very best she could.”

Jeff Probst stares at Yellow with incredulity. “You people voted out the single nicest kid in Amestris because he knocked over some puzzle pieces.”

“Okay, but Alphonse was fundamentally useless on the island,” says Havoc.

Jeff Probst continues to stare. He breaks out of his bewildered trance with a shake of his head. “Anyway, Red is down by three players. You guys are clearly superior in terms of physicality. What’s–”

“Can we just vote orally?” Winry interrupts. “I mean, it’s practically unanimous, right?”

Jeff Probst goes red in the face. He smacks his fists against the podium. “No! Okay? You’re going to listen to me talk until I say you can vote! Understand?”

“I’m going to go cast my vote,” Izumi says, rising to her feet. She makes her way down the wooden runway and Jeff Probst sputters, unsure of how to proceed.

“Hey!” he shouts. “C-come back here!”

“No!” Izumi calls back.

“N–” Jeff Probst looks at the others in disbelief. “She just said–”

“I’m going too,” says Riza, getting up. She follows Izumi down the pathway.

“You can’t vote before the previous castaway returns!” Jeff Probst yells. “Both of you come back here this instant or I’ll be forced to disqualify you!”

Winry and Greed get up and go to vote. Jeff Probst sinks to his knees with a wail.

Armstrong follows shortly thereafter, to which Jeff Probst falls on his face, weakly murmuring, “It’s not…the rules…don’t…”

Finally, Bradley gets up and trails Armstrong to the voting table. Jeff Probst can do nothing but whimper in anguish.

Soon after, the castaways return and Jeff Probst says, “But…what about the dramatic voting sequence? This chapter won’t have any of that?”

“Everyone reading this knows who’s getting voted out,” Winry says. “Why waste everyone’s time?”

“There’s a reason  _Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood_  is void of fillers,” Greed says. “We like to get straight to the point.”

Jeff Probst frowns, staring in the direction of the voting table. At last, he sighs and somberly says, “I’ll tally the votes.”

He comes back with the pot, taped and superglued together after the last tribal council, and sets it on his podium. “Once the votes are read, the decision is–”

“OH MY GOD!” Havoc moans, falling dramatically over Riza’s lap. She looks down in disgust. “Just get on with it!”

Jeff Probst frowns and grumbles unintelligibly as he opens the pot. He’s almost ready to read the first vote before Bradley stands.

Everyone freezes. Jeff Probst drops the vote back into the pot with a raised eyebrow.

“Actually, Jeff Probst,” says Bradley, reaching into his pocket, “I think now would be a good time to play this.” He pulls out an ear of corn, slightly rotted, with seashells glued to its side. Written over the leafy part in sharpie is the word  _HIDDEN IMMUNITY IDOL_.

Riza plugs her nose and makes a gagging noise. “Oh my god, what the hell is that?”

“I found it while I was excavating my pool,” says Bradley, holding it out to Jeff Probst.

“You built a pool?” Winry asks. “We’re on an island. We’re  _surrounded_  by water.”

“Mrergh,” Bradley replies.

Jeff Probst plucks the corn out of Bradley’s hand with his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it. He studies it through narrowed eyes and then says, “This is, indeed, a hidden immunity idol.”

“I’m sorry, a  _what_?” Greed barks.

Jeff Probst chuckles, tossing the corn over his shoulder. “I mean, our budget was low and that corn was rotting in my fridge so it seemed as good as anything for–”

“We don’t give a shit about the corn!” Riza growls. “What the hell is going on?”

Jeff Probst pauses for a moment, and then starts to laugh. “Wow, I totally forgot to tell you guys about this on the first day. Yeah, we like to hide immunity idols around the campsites and if a player finds it they can play it right before I read the votes and any votes cast toward them do not count.”

“ _WHAT_!?” everyone shouts at once.

“AN OUTRAGE!” Armstrong bellows.

“What kind of bullshit is this?” Izumi demands.

“How do you just  _forget_  to mention that?” Winry snaps.

“When did he build a pool?” Havoc murmurs to himself.

“This can’t be allowed!” Riza protests. “Nobody even knew about it!”

Jeff Probst ignores her and says, “All votes for King Bradley will not count. I’ll read the–”

“Wait, no!” Greed yells, jumping to his feet. “We are not going to just accept this!”

“First vote,” says Jeff Probst. He turns it around. “Bradley. Does not count.”

Bradley returns to his seat. His lips twitch into what could almost be perceived as a smile.

“Second vote,” says Jeff Probst. He turns it around. “Bradley. Does not count.”

Greed balls his hand into a fist and chews on his bandana. His face has gone beet red with fury.

“Third vote. Bradley.” Jeff Probst puts it down. “Does not count.”

Bradley settles back, crossing his ankle over his knee. The man has never looked more relaxed in his life.

“Fourth vote.” Jeff Probst pulls it out. “Wrath. Does not count.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Winry mutters.

“Not before me,” says Izumi with a sick face.

“Fifth vote,” Jeff Probst says. He reveals the vote. “Bradley. Does not count.”

Riza’s head drops into her hands. She scrunches her hair between her fingers with a deep groan.

“Sixth vote.” Jeff Probst holds up the vote. “Bradley. Does not count.”

He reaches into the pot for the final vote, the vote cast by Bradley, and opens it. Everyone in the tribe tenses. Greed swallows the bandana whole and begins to shudder. Suddenly, a myriad of things he will never own flashes before his eyes. CBS. Jeff Probst. Trampolines.

“Fifth person voted off of  _Survivor: Not Amestris_.” He turns it around. Riza’s heart stops. She bows her head in lament. “Izumi. Bring me your torch.”

Greed releases a fast breath, gaping at Bradley in shock. The Fuhrer stares forward without so much as a side glance.

Izumi looks at the others, and every single one of them is too astonished to move. Finally, Armstrong begins to weep. He tears off his shirt and embraces the woman. She draws in a sharp breath, but returns the hug to the best of her abilities.

“Oh, Mrs. Curtis!” he blubbers. “ _Oh, Mrs. Curtis_!”

“Armstrong,” she gasps. “You’re crushing my insides.”

He continues to wail, only hugging her more tightly, and finally, she vomits blood all over his chest. He springs back, and she hits the deck hard, hissing in pain.

Riza stands to help her up and when she does, Izumi hugs her. Riza makes a face, begrudgingly patting the woman’s back, thinking,  _Ew. Ew. Oh god, there’s blood-vomit on her shirt and it feels warm. Oh god._

Izumi places her hands on her shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze. “I’m counting on you to see this through and win it for the Fullmetal Surrogate Mothers Club.”

“Aw, come on!” Havoc says. “You guys had like three scenes of bonding. Turn it down a notch.”

“Shut up, Havoc,” Jeff Probst whimpers, dabbing his moist eyes with a handkerchief. He swallows a sob.

Izumi looks to the others and says, “Good luck, all.” She glares at Bradley. “Except you. Burn in Hell.”

“Mrergh.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Izumi,” says Jeff Probst. And she brings her torch to his podium. He nods at her. “The tribe has spoken.” And with that, he snuffs her flame.

Izumi leaves the tribal council hut and the others look around at each other, still trying to process the fuckery that just went down.

Greed soon decides he can no longer hold it in. He turns to Bradley and asks, “What was that about? Why didn’t you vote me?”

Bradley shrugs. “When we were walking back to camp from the challenge, I stepped in her blood puddle. I decided she either needed to be eliminated or exsanguinated.”

“Well, at this rate, she may be both,” Havoc says, cringing away from the splatter of blood on the hut floor.

“Damn it,” Jeff Probst mutters. “That’s going to take a lot of money to clean.” He glances behind him and yells, “ _HOHENHEIM OF LIGHT, GET IN HERE_!”

03!Hohenheim drags his feet into the tribal council hut with a rag. He gets down on his knees and begins to scrub.

“You’re all dismissed,” says Jeff Probst. “Get some rest and let your disbandment as a tribe marinate.” He leaves the hut and in the distance, the tribe formerly known as Yellow hear Jeff Probst’s faint voice yelling, “DANTE, GET THE LIMO!”

* * *

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Izumi Curtis**

“Izumi here,” she says, raising her hand. “Just a passing housewife. A butcher. Occasionally an alchemist.” She looks down. “I survived 30 days on the Briggs mountains. The title character is my protege. I’m currently alive despite dying off-screen in the first series. And still, none of that matters. Because I did not win any money.” She clenches her fist in a very anime fashion. “Time for plan B...” She looks up. “Sig, it’s about to get busy in our shop. And probably dangerous. Luckily, while the Fuhrer, Colonel, and his subordinates are on the island, Central Command is pretty much a ghost town. Which means we can probably steal a lot of weapons from their stash.” She smiles. “I’ll see you at home, honey!”

* * *

 

Votes:

Winry: Fuhrer Bradley

Riza: Fuhrer Bradley

Izumi: Fuhrer Bradley

Armstrong: Fuhrer Bradley

Greed: Fuhrer Bradley

Havoc: Fuhrer Bradley

Bradley: Izumi Curtis


	8. Episode 5 (Part 1)

“Okay, does anybody have any idea where we are?” Edward stops in his tracks, surveying the jungle with his hands on his hips. “We’ve passed that banana tree at least four times already.”

“It’s so hard to decipher this map,” Roy mumbles, studying a piece of lined paper, clearly torn out of a composition notebook. When the Red Tribe woke the morning after Yellow’s Tribal Council, they found a map drawn with a felt-tipped pen lying by their campsite--which wouldn’t have been an issue had Jeff Probst not crossed out all his mistakes and drawn over them without indicating which lines were improvements and which lead to nowhere. Also, he’d doodled his rival reality TV host Ryan Seacrest in the margin with X-ed out eyes, a mustache, and devil horns. Which was only ascertainable because he captioned it: “Seacrap.”

“I think you need to follow that line,” says Rebecca tracing a squiggle with her finger.

“No, no,” Roy says with knitted brows. “That takes us into the ocean. I’m pretty sure we just have to go--”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ed mutters, snatching the map from Roy’s grasp. He looks down at the nondescript lines criss crossing over the page. “I think this glob over here is supposed to represent the berry bush.”

Roy frowns. “Fullmetal, that’s a marinara sauce stain.”

Ed stomps his foot with a blaring curse. Olivier takes the map from him and rips it in half. The others gasp in protest.

She discards the useless halves and proclaims, “We will not require a map. I will find the way to our new campsite through sheer instinct.”

“General,” Roy groans, running his hand over his face. “You can’t just expect to--”

“This way!” Olivier declares, leading the group through the trees. Rebecca and Lan Fan exchange a quick look of consideration, then follow, Ed in tow. Roy hesitates, looking down at their torn map.

“Guys,” he begins. “I don’t think…” he trails off, realizing nobody is listening to him as per usual. He pettily kicks at the sand and mumbles, “Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He then follows suit.

Mere seconds later, Olivier leads them into a circle of trees where a fold out table laden with heaping piles of food stands at its center. Lan Fan sinks to her knees with a cry of delight. Her eyes fill with tears.

“Food,” she whispers.

“Never doubt me,” says Olivier, stalking toward the center. Ed is on her heels, drool trickling from the side of his mouth. Roy and Rebecca stare at each other and for the first time, there is no hatred in either of their eyes. It’s too beautiful a moment.

Suddenly, Lan Fan pauses. Her head whips up, toward the opposite side.

“I sense something,” she murmurs. She slowly rises, approaching the other side. “I sense one of those beings...I sense…”

Bradley breaks through the trees with the remaining members of Yellow behind him. Lan Fan gasps and runs over, nearly tripping over herself in her excitement.

“Young Lord!” she exclaims. She crashes into Greed and he sneers in disgust.

“Get off of me,” he says. But inside of him, Ling is quite cheerful. Beyond his own control, Greed’s arms wrap around the girl, and he directs an internal growl Ling’s way.

Ed scans the tribe, his face falling when he notes that Izumi is no longer there. He approaches them and Winry immediately throws her arms around him. Ed’s blush is redder than the tomato stain on their map.

“Winry,” he says with astonishment.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispers fiercely. “Ever since Al was voted out I was living on borrowed time. It’s so good to have an ally again.”

Ed grabs Winry by the shoulders and looks her square in the eye. “Winry, how bad was it, when Al was...you know…?”

She looks down in lament and begins to fill Ed in on all that he missed.

“How’d you guys even find your way here?” Rebecca asks. “There’s no way your map made anymore sense.”

Havoc glances over at Bradley and shudders. “The Fuhrer swallowed the map and absorbed its power. He led us here within seconds.”

Elsewhere, Roy spots Riza and lights up like a firework. They meet toward the middle and he has to force himself not to throw himself at her. Remarkably, he maintains his composure and clears his throat.

“Lieutenant,” he says.

Riza’s eyes sweep his body. “How’s your hand?”

Roy’s breath catches in his throat. He tries not to make visible note of the fact that Riza, apparently worried sick about him, wants to know about his wellbeing.

Casually, he says, “It’s fine. Barely feel it.”

Olivier chooses that moment to walk over and squeeze his fingers. He drops to his knees with a wail.  

“We’re every man for themselves,” she says to his crouched form. “As of right now, Mustang, you are my enemy.”

“What the fuck?” he gasps, falling to his side. Riza looks down pitifully.

Lan Fan stands behind the table and picks up a turkey leg the size of her head. “I suppose we are to dig in.”

“Whoa, whoa! Hold your horses!”

The castaways divert their attention to the man who steps out from the bushes. Jeff Probst smiles and says, “Congratulations, survivors. You have officially made it to the merge.”

“Is this food our reward?” Lan Fan asks, bringing the turkey leg closer to her watering mouth.

Jeff Probst makes a face. “What? Oh, _god_ , no. That’s my lunch. No, no. Your merge-reward feast is over there.” He points away and everyone drags their eyes over to a picnic blanket haphazardly tossed on the sandy floor.

Armstrong walks over and bends down. He picks up the small box that sits atop and shakes it. “Tic tacs.”

Ed balls his hands into fists. “TIC TACS? We’ve been on this island for at least two weeks and all we get is _a box of tic tacs_?”

Jeff Probst brings his hand to his chest, offended. “They’re _orange flavored_ tic tacs! God, you act like I’m some sort of monster.”

Ed launches himself at him but Winry holds him back, shouting, “Ed, no!”

“THIS BASTARD!” Ed yells, flailing in Winry’s arms. “LET ME AT HIM!”

Jeff Probst walks over to Lan Fan and plucks the turkey leg from her hand. He begins to much on it, juice dribbling down his chin.

“This is my gift to you,” Jeff Probst says through a mouthful of turkey. “Those tic tacs came out of _my_ paycheck.”

Armstrong pops it open and shakes a tiny capsule onto his palm. He tosses it into his mouth and swallows.

“Orange flavored!” he exclaims.

“We know,” Rebecca mutters. Havoc falls on his face and whimpers. Lan Fan is dragged away by Chimera!Tucker so not to block Jeff Probst’s view of his smorgasbord.

“There’s no way one human can eat that much food!” Riza protests. “We’ve been starving out here!”

“Lieutenant, you can have my tic tac ration,” Roy says with a soft smile.

“Oh!” Jeff Probst moans with euphoria. He rubs his belly as he crams four cookies into his mouth. “Oh, CBS, you’re too good to me.”

“Are we just going to let him do that?” Rebecca demands. She turns around and sees that Armstrong’s hands are empty. “Where the hell did the tic tacs…” she trails off and looks at Bradley who is emptying the final tic tac into his mouth. He swallows and glares.

“Oh, _hell no_!” she growls. She stomps over but Riza quickly grabs her arm.

“Rebecca, no,” says Riza, gripping her friend. “You have to reach at least secondary character status to challenge Bradley.”

Jeff Probst chugs and entire mug of beer and says. “Our budget’s a bit low this season, but we have to be grateful for what CBS has managed to provide despite that.”

“Is that a filet mignon?” Havoc asks from the ground.

Jeff Probst stabs it. “Medium rare.” He takes a bite and melts with pleasure. “So tender. Like butter.”

Bradley tosses the empty box of tic tacs over his shoulder and it lands by Havoc’s face. Desperately, he shoves his tongue inside the little hole to taste any remnants of the orangey flavor, alas, there is nothing left.

Jeff Probst starts to lick barbecue sauce off the outside of a rack of ribs. “Anyway, once we’re all done eating, I’m going to leave you guys to set up camp and we’ll have our first individual immunity challenge tomorrow. Sound okay?”

Greed sneaks under the table and reaches for a hot dog but Jeff Probst slaps his hand away. In his fury, he jumps to his feet and goes to flip the table, but Archer grabs him by the collar and drags him away.

“LET GO OF ME!” Greed yells. “I HAVE A RIGHT TO MY OWN FEAST!”

He tosses Greed over Havoc’s limp form. Jeff Probst swallows two hot dogs at once and chases it down with a flute of champagne. At last, he rises, the table empty save a few crumbs, and belches.

“Satisfying,” he says.

“I will rip out your esophagus,” Greed gnarls.

“I will see you guys at tomorrow’s immunity challenge!” Jeff Probst snaps his fingers and Alfons Heiderich scurries out from the bushes and folds the empty table. The two disappear, leaving the merged castaways alone.

For a while, they all stare at each other. Roy rocks back and forth on his heels and whistles. Finally, Armstrong says, “I suppose now would be a good time to meander toward the beach and set up camp.”

Everyone nods in agreement and they set off.

Olivier remains in place, staring acidly in his direction.

 

##  **MERGED TRIBE // CAMP**

“So,” says Greed, walking alongside Bradley with his hands behind his back. “Must be hard being here without your quarters, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Bradley. They make it out of the trees and to the beach. Bradley’s palace towers over them, perhaps even sturdier than before as it’s now fashioned out of bricks and cement. Surrounding it is a deep moat, complete with a chain-suspended draw bridge. Two alligators drift lazily through its fresh water.

Greed stops in his tracks, his eyes going so wide they just about pop out of his head. He shakes his head and demands, “When the _fuck_ \--”

That’s when he notices the congress of orangutans pulling the moat’s chains to lay down a bridge, yielding Bradley a pathway to the inside. He stalks past Greed and steps atop, nodding at his primates before disappearing inside. The orangutans comply to his wordless demand to cede the bridge, then follow their master.

Lan Fan puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and asks, “Young Lord, what shall I--”

Greed screams and stomps away.

Elsewhere, Rebecca is collecting wood for tonight’s fire while Riza has taken to fishing alone by the shore for dinner.

“Miss Catalina, allow me!”

Armstrong relieves Rebecca of an armload of branches. She wipes her glistening brow, watching him arrange them on the ground.

“This way, they will surely ignite with ease,” he says.

“Whoa.” Rebecca kneels before him. “You sure are good at this, Major.”

“But of course!” he professes. “Survival is a skill passed down the Armstrong family for _generations_!”

“It’s no wonder the General was so fruitful back on our old camp,” says Rebecca with a smile.

Olivier stands in a corner, seething. She grabs a rock off the floor and clenches her fist around it like a stress ball.

“What seems to be the trouble, General?” asks Roy, sauntering up to her. And to his astonishment, she doesn’t deflect him.

“Look at him,” she says with disgust. “It’s incorrigible.”

Roy puts his hands on his hips and observes. It appears Ed and Winry have joined by the fire, watching in awe. Havoc peeks over Armstrong’s shoulder with wide eyes.

The Major strikes two dry sticks together and, against all physical plausibility, ignites a fire that blazes effulgently. Everyone gasps in delight and applauds. He jumps to his feet and takes a bow, sparkles twinkling all around him.

“He _is_ pretty useful,” Roy says.

Olivier growls, crushing the rock in her hand. Dusty remnants crumble and fall through the cracks of her fingers. Roy inches away cautiously.

“The longer he breathes this island’s air,” says Olivier, “the more my blood boils.”

Roy studies her, keeping an eye on the vein that twitches on her temple and the way her hands shake by her sides. Suddenly, a smirk touches his lips.

___

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Roy chuckles, tapping his fingertips together. “It appears the General is a bit...distracted.” His lips curl sinisterly. “And now that I have my subordinates back, I’m virtually unstoppable.” He pulls his bandana from his head and tips it mockingly. “Olivier, it’s been a pleasure. But come next tribal council, we’ll see who’s _really_ fit to run this country--er--campsite.”

___

“Hey, guys,” says Winry a little after nightfall. She pulls a basket out from behind a tree. “Look what I found.”

Everyone peers inside and sees a pile of black bandanas with the Survivor logo printed across. Winry pulls one out with a wide grin.

“Finally,” Greed mutters, tying one around his wrist. “Yellow was so not my color.”

 _Excuse me_ , says Ling irritably in his mind.

“Well, it’s true!” Greed says.

When Roy picks his out of the basket, Ghost-Hughes’s disembodied voice says, _“Congratulations on making the merge, Roy!_ ”

Roy smiles as he discards his old bandana. By now it’s stiff with dried blood and other nondescript fluids from the injuries he’s sustained since his arrival.

“Sir,” Riza says with a shudder, “ew.”

“I had to staunch the bleeding with _something_.”

Rebecca wads up her red bandana and tosses it into the fire. The flames consume it rapidly, emitting a smoky odor.

“To complete the gesture,” she explains when everyone looks to her.

Despite herself, Olivier grins. She throws her own red bandana into the fire. Lan Fan follows and soon, everyone in the tribe has done so except Greed who swallowed his during the last tribal council.

“Should someone tell Bradley about the new bandanas?” Rebecca asks.

“For what?” Riza asks. “He already has his.”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asks. “How could he…” she trails off when she sees the final bandana is no longer at the bottom of the basket.

She looks around in puzzlement. “When did...?”

“He has ways,” Winry sighs. “You’ll get used to it.”

“A symbolic gesture for our convergence!” Armstrong cries while tying the new bandana around his bicep. “How poetic! _How beautiful_! What a monumental day this is!” In his excitement, he gathers Edward into his massive arms and wields a crippling embrace on his tiny form. Ed shrieks in alarm, but is only released at the unmistakable sound of crunched metal.

Ed slumps to the floor breathlessly and looks down to see that his automail arm is in pieces. He gapes at the Major.

“Oh, my,” Armstrong says. “Edward Elric, I--”

“Are you _serious_!?” Ed screams. He tries to lift his right arm but to no avail. It hangs, limp and useless, by his side. “What the hell, Major!?”

“Gah!” Winry cries. She rushes to Ed’s side and cradles his dead arm in her hands. “My masterpiece!”

“The immunity challenge is in two days!” Ed shakes his good fist over his head. “How do you expect me to compete like this!?”

“Oh, come on,” Greed says. “It’s not like any of you mortals were going to win anyway.”

“I don’t have any of my tools!” Winry groans. She flicks Ed’s inoperative thumb despondently. “There’s no way I’ll be able to get it back to what it was before we go home.”

Roy leans close to Riza and murmurs, “I can’t see how this is a bad thing. One less person to beat.”

“I heard that!” Ed crows.

“Hmmm,” says Winry, pursing her lips. She curls Ed’s fingers in and out and examines the automail thoughtfully. “You know, we can make this work.” She drops Ed’s arm none too gently and stands up with a determined grin. “By tomorrow morning, your arm should be good as new! I’ll just need some,” she taps her chin, scanning the island with her gaze. “uh, makeshift bolts for sure. Wires. And definitely a wrench, though, I can likely make one out of twigs that could work efficiently enough.”

“Twigs?” Ed asks, a little horrified.

Winry disappears into the jungle and gets to...well, whatever it is she’s planning. Ed slinks back with a dejected sigh.

The tribe lapses into silence. Some distance away, one of Bradley’s orangutans shrieks.

“Edward Elric,” Armstrong tries again. “I am deeply sorry.”

“Save it,” says Ed. He gets up, admittedly with some difficulty now, and heads for their shelter.

 

It’s the middle of the night when Winry realizes she’s hit a dead end. She sits on the jungle floor, an assortment of twigs and leaves scattered before her. She tosses a pebble away dejectedly.

___

**Confessional: Winry Rockbell**

“Yeah, I can’t do shit with these,” she finally admits. She snaps a delicate twig between her fingers. “I guess I have to go for Plan B.”

___

“So, here’s what you’re going to do,” Winry whispers to Ed the next morning as he tries to peel a banana with his teeth. “You’re going to pretend I worked magic on your arm in order to convince Lan Fan to let me adjust her.”

Ed bites through the peel and gags, spitting a mouthful of it on the sand. He opens his mouth to try again, but Winry exasperatedly snatches the banana from his good hand and peels it herself. She thrusts it into his face, impatiently waiting as he takes a hesitant bite.

Once he’s swallowed, he asks, “What? Why?”

“I’m going to steal her parts,” Winry says. “Right now, that girl’s arm is about as bountiful as the biggest automail mall in Rush Valley for all we have out here.”

Ed looks behind him, to where Lan Fan stands a good distance behind Greed as he paces along the edge of Bradley’s moat, taunting the alligators with seashells and the like.

“It’s simple,” says Greed as he tosses a shell into the water. “They’ll start to see people as a threat and the next time Wrath lays down his bridge, they’ll swallow him.”

“Homunculus,” Lan Fan says warily, “our campsite is closer to the alligators than Bradley so long as he stays indoors. This could backfire.”

He bares his teeth in annoyance, hissing, “Do you want to see your prince or not? If you don’t help me, I won’t give him control of this body for as long as you live.”

Lan Fan looks down at her clenched metal fists. Ed turns back toward Winry with a sigh of affirmation.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “It’s not like I have anything left to lose.”

___

**Confessional: Winry Rockbell**

“I know, I know,” she sighs. “Sabotage is a new low.” She looks up desperately. “But, come on! It’s not like Lan Fan has an ounce of a chance to win this, the way her social game has been going. If anything, I’d be doing her a favor by expediting her elimination!” She looks down at her hands and curls them into fists. “Like ripping a bandaid off, you know?” She slowly gets down on her knees, sliding her fingers into the sand. “I’m going to Hell, aren’t I?”

___

“Wow, Winry!” Ed exclaims a little too theatrically, conspicuously glancing over his shoulder to ensure he has Lan Fan’s attention. “This arm is working even _better_ than usual!”

“Isn’t it!?” Winry calls out. “It’s all because of this new maintenance! I might start using shells and twigs in Rush Valley because of how...effectively they work!”

Ed gently tugs on a piece of seaweed Winry fastened to his thumb like a puppet string  and controls his limp arm from behind his back.

“IT’S SO FLEXIBLE!” Ed announces, contorting his good arm in order to guide his automail into a wave. “AND LIGHT!”

“IT _IS_ LIGHT!” Winry cranes her neck and sees Lan Fan and Greed looking over, the latter looking positively irritated. “IT’S BECAUSE OF THE _NEW MAINTENANCE_!”

“Fullmetal, what’s this?”

Winry gasps as Mustang runs his finger along the slippery surface of Ed’s seaweed string.

“Uh!” Ed panics and does the instinctive thing. He roundhouse kicks Mustang in the face with his metal foot. The Colonel falls back onto the sand with a grunt. “HAHA! Only the best and _LIGHTEST AUTOMAIL EVER_!”

“Ed,” Winry says, casting a crestfallen glance at the spot Lan Fan and Greed just abandoned. “They’re gone.”

Mustang rolls over to his side and spits a bloody tooth onto the sand. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and glares.

“Sorry,” Ed sighs. “You were too close to blowing my cover.”

“Cover?” Roy asks thickly, taking the hand Ed offers to pull him to his feet. He sways a bit, as he may now have a slight concussion. “What are you talking about?”

Winry and Ed share a look. Ed shrugs in surrender.

“I know our alliance was no strings attached,” Ed begins. “But you may be able to help us. After all, you’ve manipulated Lan Fan before.”

Roy lifts an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“We need to take her arm apart,” Winry explains. “And possibly get her off the island entirely.”

Roy takes a step back, his eyes narrowing in condemnation. “She cut off her own arm for the good of her country and almost died. And you want to crush her last opportunity to make things right for your own selfish gain?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it makes us look like sociopaths,” Ed says with an eyeroll.

“That’s blatant sabotage! She’d be hindered!”

“ _I’m_  hindered!” Ed yells, gesturing wildly at his limp arm. “And the main character! So my success takes precedence over hers! Now are you going to help us or not?”

Roy’s face warps in disgust. “No! What’s wrong with you two? Like I would ever consider doing something so conniv--”

“If you do it, I’ll buy you a cup of pudding,” Ed offers.

“Throw in a spinach quiche and you’ve got yourself a deal,” says Roy, thrusting out his hand.

They shake on it and Winry drops her head into her hands. It’s going to be a long day.

__

“Okay, new plan!” Roy announces, making his way to Hawkeye and Havoc who lounge by the shore.

“Meaning?” Riza asks tiredly.

“We’re not going to exploit Olivier’s weaknesses quite yet. Instead, we’re going to sabotage Lan Fan.”

Havoc sucks in a quick breath. Riza frowns disapprovingly.

“What?” Roy asks.

“She’s so young,” Havoc says. “And selfless. You saw all she did for her country. I mean, how cruel can you be, sir?”

Roy settles down before his lieutenants on the sand and alternates looking each in the eyes. “I know it seems harsh,” he says. “But understand that the ends justify the means here. This will result in something invaluable to our tribe and this nation.”

“They bribed you, didn’t they?” Riza asks, jerking her head toward Ed and Winry.

“Next to Bradley, Lan Fan is our biggest physical threat!” Roy explains hastily, waving Hawkeye off. “The sooner we get her off this island, the better!”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to sabotage Bradley?” Havoc asks.

Roy punches the sand in frustration.

___

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“I didn’t want to have to resort to this,” Roy begins. “But…”

___

 

“Hawkeye,” Roy says authoritatively, “if you don’t help me, I’m going to tell everyone at Eastern HQ that you were the one who wrote that burn book that went around the office last year. You know, the one that offended all the higher ups.”

“That was _you_!” Hawkeye growled.

“My word against yours,” he said, crossing his arms. “Who are they going to believe? Lowly lieutenant or the young alchemic prodigy who rose through the ranks despite all odds?”

Havoc starts to laugh, but quickly shuts up when Roy says, “Havoc, I’m telling the brass that you slept with that Sergeant six months ago.”

Havoc’s eyes go wide. “What the hell, Colonel! I didn’t know she was even _in_ the military!”

“Maybe you should have been more attentive,” says Roy with an innocent shrug.

“Sir, we could be court martialed for these accusations!” Riza barks.

“So it would be in your best interest to help,” Roy says.

Riza and Havoc exchange a defeated look. He’s right. They both know it. Havoc falls backward with a groan, raking his fingers through his hair. Roy continues to watch his Lieutenant as her nostrils flare in rage.

“You said you’d follow me to Hell,” Roy offers as a last-ditch effort.

Riza glowers at him. “Clearly. Because I’m pretty sure this is it.”

__

 

That night, Riza shakes Lan Fan awake. Ed, Mustang, Havoc, and Winry all wait behind a nearby bush.

“Are you sure this will work?” Ed whispers.

“Positive,” says Mustang. “Lieutenant Hawkeye has the biggest heart of anyone I know. She’ll convince her. Surely.”

“She toilet trained her dog by shooting at it,” Havoc mutters.

“Shhhh!” Roy waves his arms and then peers over the bush. His lips quirk into an involuntary smile. Hawkeye sure does look pretty in the moonlight.

“Lieutenant?” Lan Fan asks groggily. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes and yawns.

“I know it’s late,” says Riza. She takes a shuddering breath, hating herself more each passing second. “But this is important.”

Lan Fan sits up, glancing at Greed who sleeps soundly a few feet away. She meets the Lieutenant’s intense gaze.

“Just now,” Riza says in a low voice, “Rebecca and the General were fiddling with your automail to ensure it falls apart during tomorrow’s immunity challenge.”

Lan Fan rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. You think I wouldn’t have felt something like that?”

Riza sighs deeply, casting a dramatic look toward Rebecca who sleeps on her back some way from where they sit. “If it were anyone but her, perhaps. But back in the Academy, Rebecca Catalina was notorious for pulling pranks on people while they slept. She once shaved my eyebrows off and I never even knew.”

“What?”

“Snipers,” Riza continues, “have perfected the art of patience and silent movement.”

“Why should I believe you?” Lan Fan asks, but her voice has taken a wary tone. Ed and Winry flash each other a grin.

“I’m not Mustang,” Riza says. “Or Edward. Alchemists, they’re cunning. Me? I’m just a sharpshooter. I pull the trigger, someone dies, and that’s about as complicated as it gets. I’d just hate for Rebecca to get away with this. Especially when I stayed with you in the hospital after Gluttony. I’m not a threat, Lan Fan. Believe me.”

“Wow,” Ed whispers. He looks at Mustang, who is white with shock. “She’s so good at this. Even I have chills.”

“I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my entire life,” Mustang whispers. Everyone’s eyes come to rest on him and he shrinks back, realizing suddenly that he’d been thinking out loud.

“What should I do?” Lan Fan asks nervously. She inches closer to Riza and away from Greed’s ears. “If I lose the challenge, I’ll be eliminated and I’ll have failed the Young Lord and our clan!”

Riza sets her hands on Lan Fan’s shoulders and says, “Lucky for you, we have one of the best automail mechanics in Amestris on this very island. Winry will fix you up by sunrise.”

Lan Fan bows her head, her shoulders drawing in. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I don’t even know what to say.”

Ed and Winry, their disbelieving eyes fixed on the scene before them, manage a slow fist bump. Mustang and Havoc continue to gawk.

Hawkeye helps Lan Fan to her feet and says, “Careful. If you move too much, your arm may just fall apart right now.”

Lan Fan gasps in terror and cradles her arm to her chest. “Good thinking.”

“Okay, okay!” Winry hisses. “Everyone scatter!”

The others scramble away so evade suspicion. All except Winry who falls to her side and pretend to be asleep.

Riza and Lan Fan come around the bush and kneel beside her, the former gently prodding her shoulder.

“Winry,” Riza whispers. “Psst.”

Winry slowly wakes. She meets Lan Fan’s wide, desperate eyes and grins.

“Miss Riza,” says Winry, curling up. “Lan Fan. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST MERGED CHAPTER!!! Sorry it was all over the place! And sorry it was so long! The others won’t be, I swear. I hope. I don’t think?? I haven’t given Winry and Lan Fan any special attention in a while and I really wanted to. Bear with me for this crappy, unfunny chapter. The next will be better! 
> 
> Next chapter we’re diving straight into the immunity challenge and someone will be eliminated at tribal council. WHO WILL BE THE FIRST MEMBER OF OUR JURY? 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing, by the way! They make me laugh and smile so much <3


	9. Episode 5 (Part 2)

 

“How does it feel?” Winry asks Ed as the castaways depart for today’s immunity challenge. Last night, she’d done the best that she could with Lan Fan’s arm, taking apart only enough so it would stay relatively intact until the challenge. Then she hastily put Ed’s back together before the rest of their camp woke up.

Ed winds his automail arm back with a wince. “A bit stiff, but it’ll do.”

Lan Fan approaches the group with an eased smile. She bows her head for Winry and says, “Thank you again for the maintenance on my arm. It really does feel so much lighter!”

“Of course!” Winry exclaims quickly, and Ed drags a hand down his face. “It should really help you today in the challenge!”

The other girl runs her flesh fingers along her metallic forearm with a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.” She quickens her pace to catch up with Greed.

Winry exhales. “How long before she notices I replaced half the screws with twigs?”

“Honestly,” says Ed, “I’m surprised she has yet to notice the bananas you mashed in all the hollow spaces. It’s starting to reek.”

“I told her that was just how maintenance smelled. She’s had her automail for like half a season. What does she know?”

“Either way,” says Ed, bending and straightening his own shoddily repaired automail, “this was for the best.”

They pass under the foliage and onto the challenge grounds. Jeff Probst stands at the end of a row of tall, wooden beams. However, he’s gone shirtless as Afons Heiderich is rubbing some sort of oil across his back.

“A little to the left,” Jeff Probst murmurs. “I want it nice and tan.”

“Yes, Jeff Probst,” says Alfons, generously lathering the oil in the desired area. The Survivor host melts with relief.

“Oh, right there,” he says.

Olivier clears her throat loudly. Jeff Probst twists around sharply, startling Afons. A splash of tanning oil lands on his shirtfront.

With an irked scowl, Jeff Probst turns back around. “Can you wait?”

“But of course!” Armstrong says. “‘Tis a beautiful day, after all!” The others groan collectively. Havoc resumes his regular position face-first on the sand.

When Jeff Probst is sufficiently oiled, he dismisses Heiderich and faces the tribe, but he’s so lubricated that the vertical sunlight reflects straight off his gleaming skin, blinding everyone in the vicinity.

“Aw, crap!” Ed grunts, jamming his fists into his eyes.

Bradley shrugs and shifts his eyepatch to the opposite eye, his ouroboros tattoo on full, shameless display.

“Welcome to your first individual immunity challenge!” Jeff Probst nods at the castaways. “I’ll be taking Tribal Immunity back.”

Roy tosses him the idol, but it flies straight over his shoulder. For a brief second, Jeff Probst considers going to retrieve it, but eventually just sighs and leaves it be.

He reaches into his pocket, producing a cracked seashell with a piece of string going through it. He sets it on his podium and says, “Individual immunity is now up for grabs.”

“That’s the idol?” Ed questions. He squints. “That looks like it was made by a first grader.”

Jeff Probst looks down with a hot flush. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling. “That’s because a first grader made it. Haha.” He jams his hands into his pockets, pushing down the tiny electrical drill he used to pierce the seashell. He’d been quite pleased with his work. Even Heiderich said it was superb.

“Anyway, for your challenge,” Jeff Probst mumbles, pointing to the beams that stand maybe a foot in diameter, tall ladders angled against each. “You’re all going to climb a beam and use the hand and footholds to stay on it. Whoever can endure for the longest wins immunity.” He grins. “However, I’m going to tempt you. Every couple of minutes, I’ll be bringing out a new incentive to give up.”

“What does that mean?” Rebecca asks.

“You’ll see,” says Jeff Probst.

The castaways climb their respective ladders and grab onto the beams, positioning themselves toward the top. Heiderich and 03!Sloth collect the ladders, leaving the players 20 feet from the ground.

As it turns out, the hand and footholds are nothing more than shallow dips in the wood to grant a very subtle grip. Ed, with his metal foot, has trouble with that as it slips and scrapes against it, unable to find purchase.

“Dammit,” he grunts, tightening his arms.

“For immunity!” Jeff Probst calls out from the bottom. “Survivors ready?”

“Not really,” Ed gasps.

“Too bad! GO!” Jeff Probst falls back, and like clockwork, Alfons produces a beach chair to catch him.

On the far end, Armstrong has trouble bringing his massive arms within close enough proximity to have a decent grip. He breathes slowly, murmuring, “Concentration, balance, and tranquility. Passed down the Armstrong family for generations.”

Olivier, on the adjacent beam, presses her forehead against the prickly wood and tries to block out the sound of his voice, however, fails. She jams her heel into the beam, and it rattles from the impact.

“SHUT UP!” she roars.

“Oh, sister!” Armstrong turns his head, smiling at Olivier. “I had no idea you were right beside me!”

She lets out a scream, savagely racking her beam back and forth. This is it, she realizes. This is her own personal Hell.

One over, Fuhrer Bradley dangles by a single hand that curves around the middle of the beam as if stuck with glue, while he uses the other to rummage through his pockets. He picks out a banana and begins to eat.

Greed, arms and legs wrapped firmly around his own beam, watches him through slitted eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” says Roy through a quick breath. He looks down at his hand, splinters puncturing it from every angle. “Did no one think to sand these before we climbed up?”

Jeff Probst makes a disapproving noise. “Hohenheim of Light was in charge of sanding the beams but some way through I might have made a crack or two about his decaying flesh that hurt his feelings.”

“One or two?” Alfons Heiderich asks with furrowed eyebrows.

Jeff Probst sighs in surrender. “Okay, it was thirty six–thirty seven if you count the limerick.”

“Wait, you mean  _more of these_  are splintered?” Rebecca demands, gasping as she loses her balance and slides halfway down the beam, the rough wood scraping her skin. She tightens her grip with a hammering heart.

“Actually, I think the only smooth one should be the one Bradley’s on,” says Jeff Probst.

“Naturally,” Riza sighs.

“Mrergh,” says Bradley, swallowing the last of his banana. He tosses the peel over his shoulder and it smacks Greed in the face. The homunculus begins to tremble.

Lan Fan’s beam is smack in between Ed and Winry’s. The two watch her closely. She starts to slip, so she quickly scurries back up, but the motion causes her arm to fall apart. Completely.

The metal remnants rain and scatter across the sand. With an outcry, Lan Fan falls, and Winry just about cheers in victory.

Then she catches herself with her legs.

Ed and Winry gape at one another as Lan Fan manages to dangle upside down, using only her lower body to hold herself up.

In reality, this shouldn’t be physically possible for the average joe. But then again, it’s Lan Fan. She glares at Winry, using her flesh arm to point. “YOU LIED TO ME!”

“I did no such thing!” Winry exclaims, her pulse racing. “I told you I’d make it lighter! I removed more than half of its components! That  _is_  lighter.”

“You’re disgraceful!” Lan Fan growls.

Winry wants to fight back, but staying atop her beam takes far too much energy. She tightens her arms, breaking out into a sweat.

Ed notices that her arms and legs have begun to shake. He turns away, focusing on retaining his own position, and murmurs, “Come on, Winry. Don’t give up.”

“Bring in the first incentive!” Jeff Probst commands. One of the Elric impersonators from 03 steps into frame, something small and orange-ish resting in his hands. He presents it to the castaways.

“A half-eaten chicken wing!” Jeff Probst announces. “Anyone want it?”

Havoc, whose biceps and upper body strength could probably be really useful in this challenge, stares down with a watering mouth.

“Don’t do it, Havoc,” says Roy, wincing at the sight of his now-bleeding palms.

“What kind of wing?” Havoc asks, ignoring his commanding officer.

“Uh.” Jeff Probst takes a look at it. “Looks like it’s mild? Maybe from Hooters?”

Havoc dives off of his beam, flying through the air with grace…until he hurtles toward the ground at full speed and hits the sand on his back.

“Aughhhh,” Havoc moans. Jeff Probst plucks the wing from Fake Elric’s palm and drops it on Havoc’s chest. He swallows it whole, bone and all.

Promptly thereafter, Winry cannot hold on any longer. She slides down the beam until her feet touch the sand, her stinging hands raw and scraped.

“Winry out of the challenge!” Jeff Probst says.

“Hehehe.” Havoc has yet to get up from where he lies on the ground. “And you didn’t even get food.”

“Whatever,” Winry mutters, collapsing by his side.

Back with the Armstrongs, Alex has not ceased his chattering, animatedly recounting all kinds of military stories that Olivier would rather rip her own tongue out than listen to.

“…and then, Lieutenant Ross, you know Lieutenant Ross? Oh, she is the one who wore the blue dress to the Christmas party–wait, perhaps I should start with the Christmas party! Two years ago, at Brigadier General Hughes’s–Olivier!”

The General springs off her beam, hitting the sand with less grace than she would in any normal circumstance, and scrambles away.

“I give up!” she declares. “In fact, I don’t even care to stay for the rest of the challenge. I’ll be heading back to camp.”

“You can’t do that,” Jeff Probst says.

Olivier’s response is such a terrorizing hiss that Jeff Probst’s entire body is drained of color. With a nod, he gulps. “Of course, General.”

She stomps away, leaving nine players still in the game. Everyone bites back the stinging pain of splinters alongside the strain of holding themselves up, minus Greed who’s activated his ultimate shield, and Bradley who is simply superior to everyone.

“Riza struggling to hang on, eh?” says Jeff Probst.

Riza gasps, curling her legs around the beam. She grits her teeth, trying to focus on happy things. Like puppies and gunpowder. Roy’s abs when he’s not being an idiot.

Rebecca slips down the beam, but is far too physically exhausted to catch herself. Roy follows suit within seconds.

“Gah!” he looks down at his bloody palms, gently prodding the swollen flesh with his fingernail. “If this gets infected, can it kill me?”

“With any luck,” Rebecca mutters.

“Roy Mustang out of the challenge!” Jeff Probst says.

Rebecca stomps her foot with a wild hand gesture. Jeff Probst raises his eyebrows in question.

“Hello!” she exclaims.

Jeff Probst squints, then looks at the eliminated players. “I’m not the only person seeing her, right? She’s definitely there.”

“Rebecca. She’s a castaway from the Red Tribe,” says Winry.

Jeff Probst’s eyes widen. “You’re making that up. I’ve never seen her before.”

“My thoughts exactly,” says Ed.

“I matter!” Rebecca huffs. “I–”

“Shhhh!” Jeff Probst says, impatiently waving her off. “Look, Roberta, in case you were unaware, I have a challenge to officiate and I cannot have any distractions.” He lounges in his chair. “Heiderich! Log into Netflix, please! Email is j_probst641glittertits@cbs.com. Password is ‘the tribe has spoken1’–no spaces.”

Over on her beam, Lan Fan takes a sharp breath, her legs trembling from where she hangs. Ed’s eyes widen. Could this be? Could–

Ed’s metal leg slips against his foothold and he falls. He rolls over, coughing through the cloud of sand that followed. “Dammit!”

“Ed out of the challenge!”

“Fuck you!”

Jeff Probst chuckles. “Ed is  _not_  happy.”

Greed shimmies up the beam, his homunculus strength giving him an unfair advantage over the others. He looks at Bradley with a snarky remark bubbling in his chest, only for his high spirits to shatter the instant he realizes…

“He’s  _asleep_!”

Bradley, with his head hung low, maintains his gravity-defying grip on the beam. Unperturbed, the Fuhrer snores peacefully.

“ARGH!” Greed jerks his body so violently the beam rocks back and forth. “You _bastard_!”

Bradley cracks an eye open, irked to have been abducted from his slumber, and grumbles, “Do you mind?”

“You will  _not win_!” Greed blazes, digging his sharpened shield-fingers into the wood. “Eventually, you’ll be tempted!”

“That reminds me!” Jeff Probst exclaims. He snaps his fingers, and Dante zooms to his side, holding a tiny bottle.

Jeff Probst takes it from her hand and smiles at the remaining players. Armstrong hugs the beam, comfortably settled somewhere in the middle. Greed continues to hiss in Bradley’s direction. Riza’s entire body shakes from strain and exhaustion. And Lan Fan’s face has gone red.

Jeff Probst shakes the bottle and says, “Shampoo! From the five-star resort I checked into after my accident.”

“You mean your papercut?” Roy mutters.

Jeff Probst snaps his head Roy’s way with a sneer. “Oh, because you know  _so much_ about pain tolerance.”

Roy, who’s been stabbed several times since this fanfic started, shoots Havoc an incredulous look but the latter is too busy licking barbecue sauce off of his fingers to notice.

“Who’s going to jump for it?” Jeff Probst asks, dangling the tiny bottle over his head.

“Me!” Riza says with a deep gasp. She loosens her grip, sliding down the beam. When her feet touch the sand, her entire body melts to the ground, and she kind of just lies there.

“Lieutenant!” Roy calls out.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, digging her face into the sand with a groan. Her next words are muffled. “Just fine.”

Jeff Probst walks over, dropping the shampoo next to her face. Riza slides a hand through the sand until her fingers curl around the bottle. She lifts her eyes and her face floods with life and color. Shampoo. When was the last time she had soap of  _any kind_?

With a certain hunger, she unscrews the cap and takes a deep whiff–only to frown. She tilts the bottle toward her palm and a touch of liquid pours out.

“What the–” She sniffs her hand, and the others can actually see the hope drain from her eyes. “This is water.”

“Well, the bottle was mostly empty after my shower this morning,” Jeff Probst admits with an impentinent shrug. “The water should be at least a little sudsy.”

“You got that in a hotel,” Ed says, staring up at him from the spot he’s claimed beside Winry. “They literally give those out for free. Why didn’t you just–”

“And waste a perfectly good shampoo bottle in this challenge?” Jeff Probst asks in disbelief. He shakes his head. “Maybe if it were from the Days Inn.”

Riza collapses, crushing her nose against the sand with a whimper so adverse to her character it makes Roy’s skin crawl.

A long stretch of time passes. Around hour two, Rebecca takes it upon herself to grab Riza by the arms and drag her through the sand, leaving her with the others.

Jeff Probst lies back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. Heiderich holds a MacBook in front of him with an episode of  _How I Met Your Mother_ playing from a Netflix stream.

“HAHAHAHA!” Jeff Probst points at the screen, popcorn from his open mouth flying into Heiderich’s eye.

“Jeff Probst,” says Heiderich with a wince. He looks out to the horizon. “I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Stormy clouds have begun to draw in, painting the sky a dismal shade of gray. Lan Fan is now sweating profusely, trembling from head to toe.

She casts a desperate glance at her competitors to gauge just how much longer she needs to hold on for.

The homunculus taking over the body of the young lord quakes with rage, the veins on his forehead and neck twitching. Bradley, having woken up forty five minutes ago give or take, appears to be playing tic tac toe with himself by carving into the wooden beam with a knife.

“Where’d he get a knife?” Ed mutters to Winry.

“Mrergh,” says Bradley, crossing through a row of Xs. He tosses the knife away and it sinks into Lan Fan’s thigh. She cries out, grasping at the wound with her good hand.

Ed and Winry straighten up, intently leaning forward.

“Lan Fan having a hard time,” says Jeff Probst, signaling for Heiderich to close the laptop.

“It’s fine,” Lan Fan gasps, staunching the bleeding with her shaking fist. “I’ve…had worse.”

“First immunity challenge,” Jeff Probst continues, getting up. He starts to pace along the shore. “A lot of pressure.”

“It’s alright,” Lan Fan murmurs to herself as blood gushes from her new wound. “It’s–”

“Oh my god, she’s going to choke,” Ed says with wide eyes. He shakes Winry. “It’s happening,  _it’s happening_.”

“Lan Fan doesn’t look so good,” says Jeff Probst. He chuckles, placing his hands on his hips. “Several hours up there. Must be tiring.”

“I won’t give up,” Lan Fan says breathlessly, the blood from her leg dripping down her upside-down body, running up her face. “I won’t…” she trails off and her legs finally go slack. She falls backwards off the beam with a cry of defeat.

Ed and Winry high five.

“LAN FAN OUT OF THE CHALLENGE!” yells Jeff Probst.

She rolls into her stomach, curling her fingers in, finding purchase in the sand. Her head snaps up and she stares icily at the others.

“You  _cowards_!” she spits. “You couldn’t beat me without cheating!”

Winry leans back with a long, bemused whistle. Ed sucks in his cheeks and says, “I believe the objective of the game is to outwit, outplay, and outlast. Don’t be upset you were outwitted.”

“BASTARD!” Lan Fan yells, getting up on her knees and shaking her one fist in the air.

“Sucks to suck,” says Ed.

The trees begin to rustle as the forthcoming storm’s wind make its first appearance. The beams sway from side to side, and Armstrong tightens his grip so not to be swept off–though perhaps he does so a little  _too_  much.

Armstrong’s beam crumbles in his arms. With a gasp, he falls, hitting the sand with a powerful  _thud_.

“Nooooo!” he bellows.

“Armstrong out of the challenge!” Jeff Probst announces.

“I have tarnished the Armstrong family name!” Tears pour from his eyes. “I am not worthy to shine so radiantly!” He waves away the sparkles that twinkle around his face.

Minutes pass. The castaways start to get tired. Roy and Ed have resorted to playing Patty Cake. Havoc takes a swig from Riza’s bottle and makes a face. Lan Fan has not ceased glaring at Winry since her elimination.

A crack of lightning flashes through the sky, followed by booming thunder. It begins to pour. Bradley looks up meaningfully, rain dripping down his face like badass, manly tears.

Greed starts to laugh evilly, but then, his ultimate shield gets wet and starts to slip against the wood. Abortively, he scrambles up in horror, only to slide even farther down as a result.

“No!” Greed screams. He sharpens his shield-fingers and digs them into the wood, but they only fissure through the beam as he declines. “ _NOOOOO!_ ”

The two remaining homunculi lock eyes. Greed is in full-blown panic mode, sweat mingling with the rainwater that pelts his face. He looks at Bradley with inconsolable desperation as he surrenders to gravity, but his competitor retains his impossible grip, as if the rain is not affecting him at all.

Greed slips toward the ground with a shriek. He falls back against the sand.

Jeff Probst throws his hands in the air. “Fuhrer Bradley wins immunity!”

Greed gets on his knees and curls his hands into fists. He looks to the overcast sky and howls.

Bradley does a backflip off the beam and sticks the landing. Jeff Probst walks his way and slips the immunity necklace over his head, the seashell resting over the Fuhrer’s drenched dress shirt.

“Congratulations,” says Jeff Probst.

Bradley says nothing. He closes his eyes, relishing in the pungent odor of Greed’s defeat.

Jeff Probst turns to the losers as they get up–well, most of them, anyway. Roy prods Riza’s limp, face-down body with the toe of his shoe.

“Lieutenant, the challenge is over,” he says.

“Hrrmphmm,” she replies.

“Tribal council tonight!” Jeff Probst exclaims, as he impatiently snaps his fingers, prompting his slave to fold his lounge chair so they can depart.

“Let’s go, Heiderich,” he says, walking away.

“Jeff Probst!” he says. “Shouldn’t we end this less abruptly?”

“This challenge lasted several hours more than it should have and we still have a chance to catch the end of the CBS lunch buffet,” Jeff Probst says, waving his castaways off. He starts walking away, Heiderich on his heels.

“We?” Alfons questions. They start to fade out of earshot. The last thing the castaways hear is, “But, Jeff Probst, you told me I wasn’t allowed to eat the buffet food. That’s why I’ve been living off of stale bread crusts and Powerade since the game started.”

“You’re not, but  _somebody_  needs to hold the piña colada to my lips.”

And they disappear. Havoc stretches his arms over his head and groans, “Oh my god, that was the longest challenge  _ever_!”

“And for what?” Winry mutters. “That didn’t end any way we didn’t expect it to.”

“Why are people still invested in this fanfic?” Ed wonders aloud. Everyone starts making their way back to camp. “It’s formulaic and unfunny.”

“They do it for my arms,” says Havoc.

“The author is  _not_  describing your arms,” Rebecca says. “Who do you think she is? Tumblr user stupidsexymustang?”

“Who?” Lan Fan asks.

“What’s Tumblr?” says Winry.

“I’m the main character of two different anime series, one involving alternate universes of all things, and this has still been the weirdest month of my life,” Ed mutters.

* * *

 

 

##  **// MERGED CAMP //**

Greed has immediately taken to sawing trees in half with his ultimate shield. He hacks off a branch with a roar.

Bradley steps to the edge of his moat where one of the alligators bows its head. He steps atop and the reptile carries him to the door. After he dismounts, he tosses what looks like a chicken thigh over his shoulder and the alligator catches it between his teeth.

“Where did he get…?” Havoc begins, then shakes his head. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask anymore.”

Roy grimaces as the alligator makes quick work of the chicken. Riza is slung over his shoulder as she made it a total of two steps into the jungle before falling face first on the ground.

“You can put her down now,” Rebecca says, arching an eyebrow.

“Nonsense,” says Roy. “She’s perfectly fine. Right, Lieutenant?”

Riza’s limp head lolls against Roy’s back. She moans. It’s the most physical contact they have ever had and Roy is just about ready to vomit from excitement.

As Greed continues to ravage the jungle, Lan Fan sits nearby with her head between her knees.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

Lan Fan calmly sets a hand on her lap, speaking in a slow, passive-aggressive manner. “Everyone on this island can burn in the fiery pits of Hell. They are selfish, egomaniacal, conniving sociopaths who make the avaricious homunculus using the young lord as a vessel look like an altruist.”

“Edward Elric,” she goes on, “is a pathetic excuse for a main character. In a shounen all about loyalty and friendship, he’s blindsided me.” She chuckles, though it’s unsettlingly humorless. “I believe he might be overcompensating for the fact that at age fifteen he is only half the size of the young lord. In addition to the deep shame he feels for what was done to his younger brother. Misery loves company, after all.

"Winry Rockbell is nothing but evil behind a pretty face and I would rather stab myself through the jugular than watch her win Survivor.

“Roy Mustang and his dogs…in Xing we have a word for people like them. But this is CBS and I must adhere to FCC rules. So instead,” she holds up one blurred middle finger.

* * *

 

“I say we get the Rockbell girl out,” Lan Fan grumbles.

Greed, who holds an enormous slab of bark in his hands, looks at her. He drops the wood with a clatter.

“When did you get here?” he asks.

“Homunculus, I haven’t left your side since the challenge.“

Greed turns away with a shrug. “I totally didn’t notice.” He grabs a tree stump and tears it from the ground. He tosses it over his head.

“Anyway,” he continues, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’m voting for you tonight.”

Lan Fan’s head snaps up. She sputters, “I’m sorry– _what_?”

Greed sighs, waving his hand. “Look, you’re really nice and I know the prince kid loves you. But the fact of the matter is that even without your arm, you’re too big a physical threat in the challenges. And I care more about money and status than I do about your feelings.”

Lan Fan stares at him, the world collapsing before her eyes. Everything she did, practically being a slave to that idiot Colonel, taking a knife to the leg, listening to May Chang’s irksome trilling, having to pretend to know who the hell Rebecca Catalina even was…all so she could win make the merge and win Survivor alongside the young lord.

And now for nothing.

“That’s it?” she cries. “Not one tribal council has gone by as a merged tribe and you’re already throwing me away?”

“What, did you think we were going to allies?” Greed asks with a lifted brow. “When did we ever decide on that?”

Lan Fan runs her hand through her hair with a frown. “I thought…the young lord…”

“Sorry, babe,” says Greed, piercing a tree trunk. He retracts his sharpened hand and studies the hole, as it’s miles more interesting to him than this conversation. “But I work alone. Or with followers. I’m nobody’s equal.”

Furious tears filling her eyes, Lan Fan stalks over to him, jabbing his rock-hard chest with her forefinger. Taken aback, his eyes flicker down to meet hers.

“This,” she growls through her teeth, “is the reason you’re going to die alone, Greed.” She balls her hand into a very dramatic fist against his chest. With a hitching breath, she says, “Alone. Without friends.” She pushes him and in his stupor, he actually stumbles back.

Lan Fan elusively slips away before Greed finishes a blink. He falls back into a sitting position and grabs his head, something hard forming in his throat.

_Without friends._

_Without friends._

_Without friends._

_Friends._

_Friends._

_Friends_.

Drops of moisture soak into the dirt. He touches his face and realizes that he’s crying.

“W-what?” he asks himself with a sniff. “What’s happening?”

 _Oh boy_ , Ling says internally.  _Look, Greed. We already kicked off your friendship arc. Back in Dublith, remember? We’re not doing this again_.

“She’s…she’s wrong.” Greed gasps, curling his legs in. “I don’t need friends. I have the whole world. The island…it’s…it’s mine?”

 _Why did that sound like a question?_  Ling asks.

“I don’t know!” Greed explodes. He runs the back of his hand over his eyes to dry his tears. “I don’t need anybody! I have CBS!”

 _Is that really enough?_  Ling asks him.

Greed sniffs. “Maybe not.”

 _So you know what you have to do_.

“Think bigger,” Greed says instantly. He stands up, swiping his palms over his wet cheeks. “An entity bigger and more powerful. The apex of capitalism.” With a gasp, he claps his hands. “Disney! I’m going to take Disney!”

 _Oh god_.

“Haha _ha_!” Greed exclaims, jumping into the air. “Who’s going to die alone  _now_ , Lan Fan?”

_Greed, that’s not what I–_

“First the island, then Jeff Probst, and then Disney.” He grins mischievously.

Ling huffs in annoyance.  _Hello! What about Xing?_

“Disney probably owns Xing,” Greed says. “Disney owns everything.”

 

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“I’m on borrowed time,” says Lan Fan. She squeezes her eyes closed, shuddering with self-disgust. “And unfortunately, I’ve run out of options.”

* * *

 

Lan Fan steps out of the jungle. The island is bathed in pink and gold light from the setting sun. With a deep frown, she begins toward the group sitting underneath their leaf-woven shelter.

 

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“I must do what I swore to myself I would never succumb to,” she says. “Something desperate. Something for which I must surrender every last shred of self-respect I had left.”

* * *

 

She stops in front of the shelter, staring down at her man. He lies on his back. His face is streaked in sunlight that pokes through the shelter’s cracks. By his side, Riza Hawkeye is asleep with an arm draped over her eyes. Jean Havoc sits before them, experimentally licking the outside of a banana peel.

Lan Fan takes a deep breath and thinks,  _I’m sorry, grandfather. First my arm, now my honor._

“Colonel Mustang,” says Lan Fan.

Roy sits up, careful not to wake the sleeping lieutenant. She stirs slightly, then curls into herself, turning away. Havoc glances up briefly, but quickly returns his attention to the fruit in his hand.

“Lan Fan.” He smiles. “Or should I say, ex-ally.”

Swallowing her own repulsion, she attempts a smile. “I’d like to join you, sir. Please take me with you to the top.”

Roy chuckles. He leans back with joined fingertips. “Well, where’s this coming from?”

“The Young Lord is loyal to me,” Lan Fan blurts out before she can stop herself, “but the homunculus isn’t. And with Edward Elric and the automail mechanic against me too, there is no way I will make it past this tribal council without help.” She bows, even though doing so makes her feel sick. “Please, Colonel! Take me with you to the top!”

Now, Havoc has her full attention. He and Roy exchange a look, and the Colonel laughs heartily.

Lan Fan remains bowed, her heart hammering against her chest. This is it. Her last resort. Without the Colonel’s support and his allies’ numbers, she’s done for.

“Tell you what,” Roy says with a grin. He lifts his hand and Lan Fan straightens up. “You’re in a vulnerable place right now. That much is clear to everyone. If you give the Major, Olivier Armstrong, and Catalina the same sob story, but swear your allegiance to me, then we have a deal. I’ll bring you with us to the end.”

Lan Fan frowns. “I don’t know that I understand.”

Roy gets up, standing a full head taller than Lan Fan now that he’s in front of her. She stares up at him fiercely.

“Pretend to ally with them,” he says. “But report back to me. Tonight, we’re getting rid of either Fullmetal or Winry so whichever of them is left has no choice but to ally with me too. Once we have an advantage by our numbers, we’ll get rid of the others one by one.”

Even though this form of strategy was to be expected, as it’s the entire reason she sought his help, Lan Fan cannot help how her jaw drops. How could such an imbecile come up with something so cunning? Has it been within his capabilities from the beginning? Has he just been biding his time?

“Either that,” Roy says, “or Havoc, Hawkeye, and myself vote alongside everyone for you. Even if you manage to convince both Armstrongs, Catalina, and Bradley, the rest of us have you outnumbered.” He stares down at her. “So…what’ll it be?”

* * *

Winry and Edward set out for Alex Armstrong first, however.

“Ed, there’s no way this will work,” says Winry. “It’s a weak argument and you know it.”

“Winry, just trust me,” says Ed with a tired sigh. “I know the Major. He’ll be moved to tears.”

A shadow befalls them. “I’m not sure–” Winry bumps straight into Armstrong’s muscled chest. She pulls back with a gasp.

“Miss Rockbell!” he exclaims. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Winry looks back at Ed. He prompts her with a nod. She stares at Armstrong for a few seconds, then bursts into tears.

“Miss Rockbell!” He crouches down as she falls to her knees, wailing.

“I’m so sorry!” she blubbers, furiously wiping her tears. “Dear god, it’s just too much. The guilt is too much!”

Armstrong places a massive hand on her back in comfort. She collapses on the major, trembling with sobs.

“Lan Fan!” she cries. “I performed maintenance on her automail and it fell apart! Her challenge loss today was all my fault and now she’s going to experience nothing but hardship. She’s going to fight on because she’s brave, but unless she goes in for professional maintenance soon…” Winry trails off in horror, crying even harder.

Armstrong’s eyes fill with tears. He rubs her back and asks, “What, Miss Rockbell? What will happen to Lan Fan?”

Ed swallows, rubbing his own automail, closing his eyes. The major’s terrified gaze settles on him.

“It’s bad,” Ed chokes out. “Real bad. I once went too long without replacing my arm and…” he clenches his fist. “Granny Pinako told me I would have  _died_  had I come to her a minute later.”

“Of course, Lan Fan doesn’t know this,” Winry continues in between hiccuping sobs. “And she’ll never believe me if I told her because she’ll think I’m only trying to sabotage her. After all, it’s what she thought about the maintenance.”

“Then, we must get her off the island at once!” Armstrong exclaims as tears spill from his eyes. “We must notify Jeff Probst–”

“Noooo!” Winry buries her face into the Major’s sweaty chest, holding back the urge to gag. “We can’t! Because Lan Fan will insist she’s fine. What we need to do is vote her off. Ensure she’ll get the help she requires. Mr. Dominic will fix her up right away.”

“I’m so moved!” Armstrong bellows.

“So you’ll help us?” Ed asks.

“Of course!” Armstrong embraces Winry until she turns purple. She flails in his arms, gasping for breath. “Oh, you two! So selfless! Full of love and concern!”

“Major,” Ed says, pointing to Winry. He clears his throat. “Uh…”

Armstrong releases Winry and she falls on her hands and knees. “Oh, I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” Winry wheezes. She begins to cough up blood.

“Thanks a lot, Major,” says Ed, getting down beside Winry, patting her head while she expels more onto the sand.

“I will tell the Fuhrer!” he says, springing to his feet. He leaps away, and the sand actually glitters in his path. Once he’s gone, Ed lets out a sigh of relief.

“That was easy,” he says.

Winry passes out.

“Mustang,” says Ed a little after Winry wakes. She sways a bit on her feet, but is otherwise fine.

“Fullmetal,” he replies. Ed has joined his little group by the fire. It’s almost time to leave for tribal council and Lan Fan is distracted. She speaks animatedly to Oliver and Rebecca across the shore, shaking her head and gesturing a lot with her one arm. Rebecca responds with a hand to her heart. Olivier studies her with crossed arms and cold eyes.

“We got Armstrong,” he murmurs to the Colonel.

“Excellent because apparently Greed is voting with us too.” Roy smirks. “It appears the numbers are working in our favor. Even if Catalina and the General buy whatever it is she’s trying to sell.”

Ed holds out his fist and Roy bumps his knuckles with his own. Then they disperse.

When Ed and Winry are gone, Riza comes up next to Mustang with a yawn. She leans tiredly against him and says, “You’re playing a dangerous game, sir.”

“Lieutenant, we’re touching.”

As soon as Riza realizes, she straightens up, a blush heating her face. She looks away and mutters, “Anyway, you’d better be careful. It’s way too early to be making enemies.”

“Lieutenant, do you trust me?”

Riza looks into his eyes and he relays a message. One she reads loud and clear. With an even breath, she nods.

“You’re out of your mind,” she says, and walks away. He looks after her with a fond smile.

“I love you more,” he says.

“Sir, she didn’t say anything about loving you,” says Havoc, who stops beside him.

“Oh my  _god_ , Havoc! It was in the subtext!”

As they make their way into the woods, Ed steps out from behind a nearby tree and swears under his breath.

“This bastard,” he mutters. “What’s he planning?”

* * *

 

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

The castaways come into the Tribal Council hut and dip their torches into the fire. They choose positions on the bench, waiting for their host to join them.

“Excuse me!” Rebecca screams as Havoc sits directly on top of her.

He springs up with a swear. “Holy shit, I am  _so sorry_! I didn’t even see you there.”

Then they lock eyes, and Havoc swears he’s seeing her for the first time–because, technically, he is.

“Hi,” he says stiffly, blushing.  _She’s hot. She’s hot. Oh god._  He clears his throat and bows chivalrously. “Jean Havoc.”

“Havoc, we went to the Academy together. I sat behind you in four classes,” Rebecca says.

Havoc starts to laugh. She’s beautiful  _and_  hilarious.

“Havoc, she’s not kidding. We were all at the Academy at the exact same time,” says Riza.

His eyes go wide. He points at Riza, then Rebecca, and asks, “Wait, no shit?”

“No shit,” Rebecca growls in confirmation.

Roy watches this hot mess unfold, mouth agape. He shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

“After tribal council, do you want to take a long walk along the beach?” Havoc asks her.

“Sit the fuck down,” Olivier commands, shoving Havoc out of the way to sit next to her ally. He falls into Roy’s lap and the Colonel pushes him to the floor.

“Can you believe this idiot?” Rebecca asks in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Honestly,” says Ed. “Yes.”

That’s when Jeff Probst glides into frame with his arms extended. He spins on his heels when he reaches his podium and tips his cap, waiting for the castaways to applaud.

No one does.

“I got Heelies,” Jeff Probst says with a frown. He lifts his foot, exposing the bottom of his sneaker to the rest of the players. And there is, indeed, a wheel built into the back of the sole.

“Did you use our reward budget for them?” Winry asks.

“Of course not!” Jeff Probst says, aghast.

“Oh,” Winry says.

“I sold your rights,” he continues. “Now, any network can use you for anything they want. Greed, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve signed you up to be a cameraman on American Idol next season. Without pay.”

“I’m sorry, did you say  _without_ –”

“You can’t do that!” Ed exclaims. “We’re property of Bones! You can’t just–”

“So let’s talk about the merge,” says Jeff Probst, setting his hands on the surface of his podium. “The dynamics have shifted already. New alliances have been formed. What’s it been like to adjust?”

“It’s been wonderful!” says Armstrong the moment Ed opens his mouth for additional protest. “We all get along tremendously.”

Olivier’s fist is clenched so tightly it’s starting to turn deep red. She takes a measured breath.

“That’s not true, Jeff Probst,” Greed says, aiming his acidic glare directly at Bradley. “While most of us work our sorry asses off to get the campsite up and running,  _some people_  are living in luxury without sharing the goods.”

“If you’d like my palace,” Bradley says, leaning back with his eyes closed, “you’re more than welcome to try and take it.” He chuckles. “In fact, Greed, if I’m eliminated, I leave the palace to you–of course, that means one of you has to win an immunity challenge.” His eyes scan the group. “Perhaps if you all tried to take me down at once you might have a chance, but it would still be slim.”

Jeff Probst shakes his head in alarm. He starts to laugh. “Fuhrer Bradley, this is the most you’ve ever said in one episode. Has your challenge win prompted this new burst of charisma?”

“Mrergh,” says Bradley thoughtfully.

Greed launches himself at him, but Armstrong grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back. The homunculus activates his ultimate shield and writhes.

“I get the sense you two don’t get along,” says Jeff Probst.

“The fact is, a  _lot_  of people on this island don’t get along,” says Rebecca. When nobody responds, Riza sighs heavily.

“The fact is,” Riza echoes, “a  _lot_  of people on this island don’t get along.”

“Good point, Hawkeye,” says Havoc, and Rebecca dies a little inside. “We do more fighting and sneaking around than actual surviving. I’ve eaten nothing but bananas and half a cold chicken wing in days. My stomach feels like a block of cement. All our free time is spent scheming.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Winry says with an innocent lilt to her voice. “I’ve never schemed a day on this island. Some of us are just trying our best to get by.”

Lan Fan begins to growl.

“We shouldn’t demonize the whole tribe,” Winry continues. “Nobody is perfect.”

“Your microscopic love interest admitted to sabotaging me at the challenge!” Lan Fan yells, pointing accusingly at the Resembool couple. “How can you sit here and–”

Winry and Ed gasp in unison, hands flying to their chests.

“I am appalled,” says Winry.

“How dare you accuse us of such a thing!” Ed adds.

“You cannot tell me nobody heard them!” Lan Fan exclaims, looking to her tribe mates for validation. But they lapse into silence, the crackling fire growing louder by the second.

“Olivier, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Jeff Probst prompts. “You’re usually the first to speak at tribal. What’s going on?”

“She’s gone on strike,” Rebecca explains. “She told me she’s not going to say a word at tribal council until Major Armstrong is eliminated.”

“Unless,” Rebecca adds, “Colonel Mustang is eliminated, whereupon she will celebrate ad nauseum.”

Olivier smirks in affirmation.

“Come on, seriously?” Roy mumbles.

“Roy!” Jeff Probst says. “You were having quite the hard time back on the Red Tribe. How does it feel having new allies and a different tribe dynamic?”

“It feels good, Jeff Probst,” Roy replies, happy to finally be addressed. “In fact–”

“Look,” says Ed with a wave, “I think the main issue here lies with the fact that the ones who survived the merge are all really manipulative in their own way, otherwise, they wouldn’t have made it this far. Al was too nice. Teacher didn’t play dirty enough either. Kimblee never bothered to make allies and May was too upfront about her feelings.”

“So you’re saying you can’t trust anyone,” says Jeff Probst.

Ed exhales slowly. Then shrugs. “I dunno. If I’ve learned anything from being in this game, it’s that people will do whatever is most convenient for themselves in order to win. Anyone who doesn’t gets weeded out.”

“Fullmetal, you seem to know quite a bit about manipulation,” says Roy curiously.

“I’m an alchemist, I like to think,” he says. “You’d know, Colonel.” He narrows his eyes. “I think the worst thing you can do at this point is betray your allies. Piss off the jury and you’ve dug your own grave.”

Roy peers at him through slitted black eyes. “Well, you don’t make it to the top without stepping on a few people’s faces.”

Ed stares at him. “What does that even mean? What a weird figure of speech.”

“It was a bit wordy,” Havoc agrees.

“Ew,” Rebecca adds, rubbing her own face with a cringe.

“I think it’s time to vote!” says Jeff Probst. He looks at Bradley. “Bradley, you have the individual immunity necklace. You can keep it for yourself or give it to somebody else. What’ll it be?”

Bradley glares.

Jeff Probst blanches. In somewhat of a tight voice, he says, “You cannot vote for Bradley, everybody else is fair game. Olivier, you’re up.”

Silently, Olivier rises. She walks to the voting table and scrawls a name. She holds it up.

 _Lan Fan_.

She shakes her head, suppressing the urge to go off on another soliloquy about Briggs men being the strongest of them all and how sob stories do not impress her. She places the vote in the pot.

The next one up when she returns is Rebecca who scratches her head, staring at the blank page for a long while before casting her vote.

Winry is next, scribbling Lan Fan’s name and holding it up.

“Go get your arm fixed,” she whispers to the camera. “You look pitiful.” Fiercely, she folds her note and drops it in the pot.

Lan Fan is next, getting up as Winry sits down. The two girls stare each other down in the motion. When Lan Fan makes it to the table, she uncaps the pen with her teeth and writes Winry’s name. She holds it up.

“I’ve decided to screw the FCC rules and say that obscene Xingese word that reminds me of the lot of you. It’s #$@%&#&%!#&@#$.”

She comes back with a satisfied grin, and Bradley is next up. He writes down a name and holds it up.

_Young Lady_

“You came close today in the challenge,” he mrerghs. “I never want to see a person get that close ever again.”

A few others put in their votes. Ed, Riza, Armstrong. When it’s Greed’s turn, he hesitates.

 _Don’t do it, Greed_. says Ling.  _Remember what she said. If you continue down this path_ …

“ _Fuck_!” Greed says, uncapping his pen, writing down a name. “Fuck Wrath for winning immunity. And fuck you, kid, for all your internal bitching.”

 _You want friends_ , says Ling.

“I want Disney!” Greed gnarls, dropping his vote into the pot. He stomps away, massaging his temples to smother Todd Haberkorn’s voice in his head.

Roy is up next, and he draws a single line on the page, knowing he can either make it an L or a really ugly W depending on his next stroke. He taps the back of his pen against the page, weighing out his options, thinking of Ed’s words, thinking of everything, really.

He hears Riza’s voice, as if it was yesterday, even though it was actually like forty minutes ago.

_It’s way too early to be making enemies._

Perhaps she’s right. He brings his fists down on the table and whispers, “Dammit.”

When Roy has put in his vote, he returns and Jeff Probst nods with a smile.

“I’ll tally the votes,” he says, and rolls out of frame on his Heelies. A few seconds later, he rolls back in with the vote pot.

“Ah,” he says, placing it on his podium. “Once the votes are read the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

He opens the pot, extracting a vote.

“First vote.” He flips it over. “Lan Fan.”

Lan Fan exhales, having expected it. She knows that whatever tonight’s result, it’s going to be close.

Jeff Probst takes out the next vote and reads it. “Second vote.” He reveals it. “Lan Fan. Two votes Lan Fan.”

Absently, Winry and Ed reach for each other’s hands. He gives her a reassuring squeeze. As this is a very, very intense moment for them both.

“Third vote,” Jeff Probst pulls it out and reads. “Winry. Two Lan Fan. One Winry.”

Winry draws in a tight breath but remains calm. It’s only one vote, after all.

Roy glances at Ed and Winry’s hands and reaches for Riza’s but the moment he does, she bends his thumb back at a painful angle. He hisses in pain and scoots away with a wounded look.

“Fourth vote,” says Jeff Probst. He reads it. “Winry. We’re tied. Two Lan Fan and two Winry.”

Winry furrows her eyebrows, trying to do the mental math. Who the hell voted for her? Did Greed make a last minute decision to support Lan Fan?

“Fifth vote!” Jeff Probst turns it around. “Winry. Three Winry, two Lan Fan.”

“Three?” Winry whispers. She starts to shake. No, no, no, this isn’t supposed to happen! Her livelihood depends on this. She hadn’t told anyone, but Garfiel wasn’t going to let her play, saying he needed her working in Rush Valley throughout the duration of the competition. But she’d been so confident on winning that she quit her job, yelling, “See you motherfuckers when I’m two million cenz richer!”

How is she supposed to go back  _now_?

“Sixth vote,” Jeff Probst says. He turns it around. “Winry. Four votes Winry. Two votes Lan Fan.”

Jeff Probst takes the next vote. He reads it. “Uh?” Turning it around, he says, “Young Lady?”

Bradley points at Lan Fan and Jeff Probst nods in understanding. “Okay, I see. Four votes Winry, three votes Lan Fan.”

Winry’s heart begins to race. Does she still have a shot? Her hand has gotten really sweaty and Ed is visibly uncomfortable with the fact but he’s not about the be the asshole who lets go first so he endures it with a grimace.

“Lan Fan,” Jeff Probst reads. He laughs. “Interesting. Four votes Winry, four votes Lan Fan. We are back at a tie.”

Winry and Lan Fan’s eyes meet and the latter mouths something Winry thinks might be in a foreign language–and probably not nice by the way she snickers after the fact.

“Winry,” Jeff Probst reads, turning the vote around. Winry is really panicking now. How the fuck did this happen? Who betrayed her? Her eyes rest on the Colonel who sits relaxed and smug a row ahead.

“You,” she whispers, seeing red.

“Lan Fan,” Jeff Probst reads, placing the next vote aside. The entire tribe tenses. Jeff Probst grins. “We’re at another tie. Five votes Winry, five votes Lan Fan, one vote left.”

Winry squeezes Ed’s hand, her breathing quickening. Lan Fan watches the Colonel carefully, trying her best to remain calm. Everything rides on this next vote.

Jeff Probst pulls out the final vote. “Sixth person voted out of  _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the first member of our jury.” He reveals the vote. Lan Fan sags in relief. “Winry. Bring me your torch.”

Winry pulls her hand from Ed’s grasp and he immediately wipes his sweaty palm on his shirtfront. Then it sinks in that his only real ally has just been eliminated.

“Hey!” he says. “Wait!”

“We tried, Ed,” she says with a sad smile. “But I guess it just wasn’t enough. Win this for Resembool, okay?”

What Ed really wants to say is fuck Resembool. He’s winning this because he’s the main character and settling for anything less would be an embarrassment.

What he says instead is, “I will. Tell Al hello for me.”

She smiles, grabbing her torch and walking toward Jeff Probst’s podium, but he’s so excited about his heelies that he actually rolls forward, meeting her halfway.

“Before I go,” she says to him, then turns toward her tribe. “Miss Riza?”

Riza lifts an eyebrow in question.

“You’re welcome for the hair inspiration,” says Winry. Then she shrugs with a passive-aggressive smile. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t suit you in the slightest. But then again, imitation is the highest form of flattery, even if it’s as awful as yours. Your split ends have bothered me since we first got here.”

She smiles at Jeff Probst. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

Jeff Probst sucks in a breath. “That was savage.”

“You’re right, Winry,” says Riza, looking down. “Maybe when I win the two million cenz you’ve just been knocked out of the running for, I’ll get a trim. And because I’m feeling so generous, some disinfectant for those piercings that are starting to look inflamed.”

Winry claps a hand to her ear and Jeff Probst laughs.

“Need some cold water for that burn?” he asks.

“Sure,” Winry says, straightening up. “I’ll use Miss Riza’s shampoo bottle from the challenge.”

“On that note.” Jeff Probst grabs his snuffer. “Winry, the tribe has spoken.” He puts out her flame and she gets to leave the tribal council area with the final word. Which ultimately means nothing because she’s still a loser.

“Wow,” says Jeff Probst, facing the tribe. Riza looks after Winry in utter disbelief. The host chuckles. “Looks like you all have a lot to talk about. Get some rest, head back to camp. I’ll see you next episode.”

* * *

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Winry Rockbell**

“Blindsided!” she exclaims. “I was blindsided! That just goes to show you that you can’t trust the military. They’re nothing but rabid dogs.” She scoffs. “They all made a mistake. They’ll realize it soon enough. And I can’t wait to watch them have it out when I’m part of the jury.”

* * *

 

Votes:  
Ed: Lan Fan  
Bradley: Lan Fan  
Greed: Winry  
Riza: Winry  
Roy: Winry  
Havoc: Winry  
Lan Fan: Winry  
Armstrong: Lan Fan  
Olivier: Lan Fan  
Rebecca: Winry  
Winry: Lan Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Elle for my referencing her url in this. (Also, I did promise Havolina. Hope it’s delivering XD).
> 
> Fun fact: the person who was to be eliminated this episode changed several times. I really didn’t know who it would be until it happened. I wish Winry had stayed longer so I could write more EdWin. Alas. 
> 
> ALSO SORRY THIS WAS SO DAMN LONG. I KNOW, I KNOW. IT WAS TOO MUCH. No more immunity challenge and tribal council in the same chapter. It’s a bit overwhelming. I just didn’t want to separate it into even more chapters ;-;
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the notes and for reading. It makes me really happy whenever I see them. Hope you’re having an awesome Monday <3


	10. Episode 6 (Part 1)

“It’s very clear that someone on this tribe is a problem,” says Rebecca.

It’s just after sunrise and she and Olivier stand waist-deep in the water, catching fish with nets the General made herself. When Rebecca questioned where she acquired the woven ribbons of cloth used, Olivier responded with a simple, “Don’t you worry about that.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” says Olivier. She yanks her net out of the water, carefully watching three fish flop and twitch desperately within their wet cotton prison. “Did you see him after tribal council? Weeping like the invertebrate he is.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows draw together. Puzzled, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Alex, of course,” says Olivier. She turns to Rebecca with an icy look. “Is that not who we were talking about?”

“What? No!” Rebecca says. She casts a furtive glance over her shoulder and leans in. In a low voice, she says, “I’m talking about Bradley.”

Olivier snorts. “What about him?”

“Uh,  _I dunno_!” Rebecca says, sardonically tapping her head. “He’s only the biggest physical threat on the island by a landslide! No one has a fraction of a shot at winning immunity so long as he’s here. And this fic is going to run stale if we don’t shake things up!”

Olivier considers this for maybe half a second before shrugging and turning away. “Yeah, I don’t care. If Bradley wins, that means Alex won’t. He’s not my problem right now.”

“They could vote  _you_  out,” Rebecca mutters to her ally’s back.

Olivier guffaws. She flips her wet hair over her shoulder. “Then let them. If anyone on this island manages to outplay me, they deserve to win.” She flashes Rebecca a shrewd grin. “Do you plan to try, Warrant Officer?”

“I’m a second lieutenant–but that’s not even the point!” She follows the General as she wades further out. “Major Armstrong is  _not_  a threat! Not like the Fuhrer. And if all of us work against him instead of each other, we might actually have a shot at getting him out.”

Olivier dives underwater, clenching the end of her net of fish tightly. From above, Rebecca thinks she hears a muffled scream.

* * *

**Confessional: Rebecca Catalina**

“I think the General’s priorities are really out of whack,” says Rebecca. “And I think her obsession with getting the Major off the island is starting to cloud her judgment.”

* * *

Edward Elric sits alone by the shore, watching the tide’s gentle push and pull. His knees are drawn up to his chest, his chin resting atop. He dismally tosses a seashell into the water.

Several weeks since his arrival have begun to take a physical toll on the Fullmetal Alchemist. In the island’s humidity his automail has oxidized at the joints, rendering his movements stiff. The neckline of his black tank top droops more than usual, and dark circles shadow his eyes.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Winry was eliminated last night,” he says, tiredly scratching his head. The bandana he wears slips down his forehead. “I knew the Colonel was a slick jerk, but this was low even for him.” He chuckles sardonically. “I guess that’s the object of the game. We have no friends on the island. We’re nothing but each others’ stepladders to the end. Pretty screwed up, isn’t it?”  

* * *

 

He starts to build a tiny sandcastle when he hears Mustang scream from their shelter. Ed’s head whips back in alarm.

“WHO DID THIS!?” Roy shouts, running his hands over his mostly-bare chest now that his shirt has been shredded to ribbons. He glares at Havoc. “Was it  _you_?”

“No way, boss,” says Havoc groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Besides, how would I even–”

“Then it had to be Fullmetal! The little runt–”

“Hey!” Ed springs to his feet. One thing is remorselessly betraying his love interest. Another is getting rid of his only ally and leaving him virtually powerless in a place where he’s already mentally and physically deteriorating. But calling him a runt, that’s crossing the line. “You bastard! Say that to my face!”

Greed makes his way over after a restless night of staking out Bradley’s palace–for no reason whatsoever. He’s about to collapse from exhaustion when he stops in front of Roy, taking in the shredded remains of his shirt that barely cling to his body, making him look like a middle aged father trying to convince his son that he’s cool enough to join his punk band.

Greed erupts into laughter. Howling, he wraps his arms around his stomach and drops to his knees.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Roy mutters.

“Oh my–OH MY GOD!” Greed falls over, tears streaming down his face. “You look like–” He’s unable to get any words out. Through chortles, he gasps, “This is amazing!”

Sopping wet, Olivier and Rebecca come clambering up the shore. Each of them drops a net of fish by the camp.

“Breakfast,” says Olivier.

Roy’s eyes nearly burst out of his head. He points to the nets and sputters, “Is that  _my shirt_!?”

“What’s it to you?” Olivier sneers, getting down to untie the nets. She reaches into the waistband of her pants and extracts a seashell she’s sharpened into a knife and begins to scale the fish.

“How did you– _when_  did you–”

“I’m hungry,” says Rebecca. She look at Ed. “Can you get a fire started?”

“Yeah, I’m with Natalie.” Greed rolls onto his back, catching his breath as his laughter finally eases away. “I could go for some food.”

“I don’t  _have_  another shirt!” Roy shouts. “What do you expect me to do? Just walk around like this? Do you know how humid it is? I’m going to get eaten alive by bugs!”

“Sir, you’ve literally been impaled before,” Riza says, taking a fish from Rebecca to help scale. “You can handle it.”

“Did someone say they were shirtless!?”

Olivier drops the fish on her lap and rubs her temples.

 _No_ , she thinks. _Anytime but now. It’s too early in the morning for this._

Alex Armstrong leaps in with extended arms. He laughs in delight. “Colonel, your physique!”

“Please, no,” Roy mumbles, curling into himself, sliding his fingers through his hair. But Armstrong scoops him into a robust embrace. Roy kicks his legs in the air. “NOOOOO!” But the word is muffled against Armstrong’s bare chest.

Olivier stares with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, completely spellbound. Her brother continues to crush Mustang to his chest, and the latter breathlessly squirms.

For a second–and it is brief–she is actually overjoyed that her brother is on this island. But this second is over the moment Mustang is released and the color returns to his face.

She snorts and returns to her fish scaling. “Enough with this buffoonery. If you want to eat, grab a fish. We don’t have all morning.”

* * *

 

Lan Fan sits by Bradley’s moat, watching the alligators drift along. She’s never seen an alligator before. They’re not native to Xing. It’s somewhat of a mystifying sight. Even more mystifying how Bradley throws them fully cooked luxury steaks from the fourth story window every few hours.

The space beside her occupies. It’s Greed with two fish in his hands. He starts to munch on one. She stares at the other.

“Is that for me?” she asks.

Greed gives her a baffled look. “What? Of course not. They’re both mine. Why would I–”

 _Greed_ , Ling chides internally.

The homunculus sighs with dread and begrudgingly thrusts the fish into her face. In a tight voice, he says, “Take it.”

Lan Fan slowly does so, though she has to wrestle the fish from his firm grasp. After prying his fingers away, she begins to chew.

“So….” Greed begins. “You seem to have allies…everywhere now.”

“Well, I had no other choice after you turned your back on me,” Lan Fan says coldly.

They sit in silence. Greed can feel the tension building between them like a brick wall. Suddenly, the moat’s drawbridge descends, laying down a path. The palace doors open with a heavy creak and Bradley steps out into the sunlight with perfectly gelled hair and pressed dress pants. He holds a potted plant in his arms.

Greed crushes his fish in his hand, starting to quiver with anger.

He steps onto the beach and comes over to Greed’s other side, setting the pot down beside him. Wordlessly, he starts back toward the palace.

“Hey, wait!” Greed calls. He gets up and points at the fuzzy, star-shaped flowers. “What the hell is that?”

“They’re stapelias,” Bradley says, without turning around. “Native to Africa. They need sun.” As he’s walking up back up the bridge, he adds, “They’re also beginning to emit an odor. Do me a favor, Greed, and put the flowers by your campsite, as they will get the best light there. If you don’t, I’ll kill everyone who has ever been kind to you.”

Instinctively, Greed grips the pot’s edges to hurl the entire thing at the alligators, but Ling takes just enough control over his body to force him to behave.

 _Okay, no_ , says Ling.  _You may not have any friends, but_ mine _have treated you well! You’re not going to get Lan Fan and Fu killed over a plant!_

“Do you need help? They look heavy.” Lan Fan says, looking between the flowers and Greed.

“AURGH!” Greed kicks the pot with all his might. But even with his ultimate shield activated, it does not so much as crack. Because of course.

After much cursing and a valiant effort, Greed manages to drag the pot through the sand and to their campsite. Ed plugs his nose and asks, “What the–”

“DON’T ASK!” Greed shrieks.

* * *

 

 

##  **// IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //**

“Come on in, guys!” yells Jeff Probst.

The castaways step onto the challenge grounds and see an elaborate obstacle course that extends all the way down the beach, spilling out into the ocean.

“Bradley,” says Jeff Probst with a nod. “I’ll be taking immunity back.”

Bradley tosses the necklace to Jeff Probst and the seashell hits him straight in the eye. The Survivor host drops to the sand with a cry of pain. Everyone else shoots Bradley astonished glances. He merely stares ahead, expressionless.

“Heiderich!” Jeff Probst moans. “HEIDE–”

Alfons Heiderich rushes out from beneath the foliage and falls to Jeff Probst’s side. He helps pull him into a sitting position.

“I’m seeing white,” Jeff Probst murmurs, reaching for the collar of Heiderich’s shirt. “G-g-get the wheelchair! Get–”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Roy mutters. He turns to Riza. “Is this guy serious?”

Since they left camp, Roy discarded his mangled t-shirt–which would be distractingly sexy if his chest weren’t covered in swollen welts courtesy of the bugs that devoured him the moment he stripped. Riza dismayfully looks away.

So much for that.

Ten or so minutes later, Jeff Probst is put into a wheelchair and now sports an eyepatch. He folds his hands over his lap and calmly continues, “Today’s challenge is a special one. Because not only is it also for reward, but  _two_  people will be safe from tonight’s vote.”

This has everyone’s attention. The castaways look at one another. So someone  _other_ than Bradley actually has a shot this time?

“First off, what you’re playing for,” says Jeff Probst. He holds his hand up with a wince and glances at Heiderich. “The sun is hitting my face. Either act as a shade or turn me away.”

“Yes, Jeff Probst.” Heiderich turns him, with much difficulty as he’s maneuvering through sand.

“Anyway,” says Jeff Probst. He waves his hand and calls out, “Loved ones! Come on in!”

The castaways’ eyes follow his gesture. A line of people drizzles in from the jungle. At the front is old man Fu, his mustached mouth turned into a deep frown. Tears spring to Lan Fan’s eyes.

“Grandfather!” she cries.

Behind him is Madame Christmas, followed by Van Hohenheim, a decidedly paler Van Hohenheim, Selim Bradley, a well-dressed bearded man, Captain Buccaneer, and Heymans Breda.

“Wait a second.” Ed breaks away from the group and stops in front of Jeff Probst. “Out of  _everyone_ I have ever interacted with, you brought  _HIM_?”

“Hello, Edward,” says Hohenheim with a smile.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! DON’T TALK TO ME!” Ed yells.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” says Madame Christmas. She pulls out an urn and sets it on the sand. “I brought Berthold Hawkeye.”

“Are you kidding?” Riza glares at Jeff Probst. “Is that supposed to be an incentive? I have friends, you know. And a dog!”

“Why isn’t there anyone here for me?” Rebecca demands.

Jeff Probst stares at her in puzzlement. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, who were you again?”

“Is  _he_  supposed to be my loved one?” Greed asks as paler Hohenheim–AKA Father–alchemically creates a throne to sit atop.

“I mean, it’s not like you have any other family,” Jeff Probst reasons.

“Father!” Selim Bradley beams, waving excitedly to Bradley. Jeff Probst brings his hand to his heart.

“Aww!” he says. “He’s so cute!”

Since this fanfic doesn’t have a definite place in the mangaverse timeline, we’re just going to assume the castaways all know Selim Bradley to be the homunculus Pride. And as such, they stare at Jeff Probst, aghast.

“He’s not cute!” Riza protests. “He’s a demon child!”

“Father, Lieutenant Hawkeye is saying mean things about me,” Selim says, rubbing at his teary eyes. He covers his face and sits on the ground. “I don’t like it.”

Jeff Probst shakes his head in horrified disapproval. “Riza, how can you be so cruel?”

Crestfallently, Rebecca asks, “Really, did  _no one_  come for me?”

Olivier and Buccaneer make eye contact and nod curtly to one another. Doing anything more would crack their badass resolve.

Breda stands beside Armstrong’s father, shuddering at the similarities in their facial features. And he thought the  _major_  was intense.

“I like Falman better,” says Havoc. “Why couldn’t they have gotten him?”

“Screw you!” Breda exclaims. “I brought you cigarettes and weights when you were in the hospital!”

“When I  _wanted_  a hamburger,” Havoc mutters. “You’re dead to me, Breda.”

“Nice to see everyone, isn’t it?” Jeff Probst asks.

“I hate that guy,” Ed replies.

“You brought me an urn,” Riza mutters.

“The two winners of this challenge will not only be safe from elimination in tonight’s tribal council,” Jeff Probst says, disregarding the castaways’ qualms, “but will get to spend the rest of the day with their loved ones.”

“I don’t  _want_  to spend the day with that deadbeat!” Ed screams.

“An  _urn_ ,” Riza says again.

“What if I win?” Rebecca asks. “What do  _I_  get–”

“For your challenge,” Jeff Probst continues over her voice, much to Rebecca’s chagrin, “you’re going to be in pairs. The two of you will be tied together by the leg and waist. Then you’re going to go through the obstacle course.” Jeff Probst points to a maze of wires. “You’ll have to maneuver over, under, and through the wires.” The castaways follow his gesture to a long wooden wall, standing roughly ten feet tall, with planks of wood bolted on for footholds. “You’re then going to scale that wall. At the end, you’ll dive into the water and swim out to sea to the flag.” Surely enough, an orange flag ripples in the distance. “First pair to get to the flag wins immunity.”

“This is as unnecessarily complicated as the first challenge,” Ed mutters.

“Good observation, Edward!” Jeff Probst says. “That’s because this challenge, like the first, was created by the author!”

Everyone groans collectively. Havoc falls to his knees and hugs himself. “I hate the author. She always abuses me.”

“Because you’re easy to abuse,” says Rebecca. “You’re hot and nice and a romantic ditz.”

Havoc looks up at her with wide, glistening eyes. The world, once bleak, has suddenly burst into color. “You think I’m hot and nice?”

Rebecca makes a face. “Uhhh…”

“So, let’s draw for partners and we’ll get started,” says Jeff Probst.

__

“I’m not competing,” says Olivier when Alex presents her with the frayed ropes that are to tie them together. He frowns.

“But, sister,” he says, “it was the luck of the draw! You know very well swiftness and agility is a skill passed down the Armstrong family for generations! If we work together–”

“Probst, I’m  _not_  doing this challenge!” Olivier yells. She looks up into the heavens, wondering what she could have possibly done to deserve this. Sure, she’s an ice queen and isn’t exactly warm to her subordinates. And, okay, maybe she once cemented a man alive. But none of that even comes close to amounting for the suffering she’s being put through right now on this island.

“The two of us may even be able to defeat Bradley,” he says quietly.

Olivier turns on her heel to stomp away, but her brother catches her in a strangling embrace. She thrashes and screams, futilely reaching for the seashell knife she keeps in her pocket.

“LET ME GO!” she yells.

He ties her by the leg and waist as she flails and punches. Eventually, however, he does get a solid hold on her.

“Olivier, look,” he says. “That wasn’t so bad.”

She bites his arm viciously enough to draw blood. He howls in pain and the Armstrongs tip over, Olivier struggling to break free.

Elsewhere, Roy and Ed have tied themselves together, though the height difference is significant enough for Ed’s body to be dragged along as Roy moves.

“Of all people,” Ed mutters, “I had to be paired with you.”

“Look, I’m not thrilled about this either,” says Roy, nearly tripping over himself as Ed’s metal leg catches on a pile of sand.

Ed’s cheek is pressed to Roy’s bug-bitten torso and he has to fight the urge to gag.

“Dammit,” Ed groans with a cringe.

Havoc, on the other hand, feels like he scored the jackpot. With Rebecca Catalina’s gorgeous anime girl body pressed to his, he’s prepared to pass out from excitement.

 _That’s definitely a side boob I feel_ , he thinks, tilting his head back and biting his lip as he gives thanks to every god of every religion to ever exist.  _Even if I’m eliminated tonight, I’ll leave this island with a smile on my face_. He glances at her, how she pouts and stares fixedly at a nearby rock, bored out of her skull.

 _I’m going to marry her. We’re going to have six kids. They’ll grow up on the countryside. We’ll have a horse and name it Thomas._  Tears spring to his eyes. He’s always wanted a horse. He can’t wait to gallop into the sunset with his new wife pressed to his back, her arms around his waist as she giggles, “Oh, Jean! Let’s make love under the stars tonight!”

“Don’t worry, Ramona,” he whispers to his partner. “I’m going to win Survivor and get us that horse.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “I don’t even know which part of that statement to address first.”

Meanwhile, on Riza and Lan Fan’s end, things could not possibly be more awkward. Riza stares blankly ahead of her after they’re tied together. Lan Fan glares openly at the Lieutenant, tapping her foot with impatience. The silence thickens over their heads. It’s so tense, even the Hawk’s Eye feels profound discomfort.

“Look,” Riza finally says. “About your arm–”

“Worry not, it won’t hinder us!” she snaps. She looks down and mutters, “Though, you’d probably like that. You are keen on sabotage, after all.”

Riza has no response to that. She sucks in her cheeks and averts her eyes. A few feet away, Roy lets out a long whistle.

“Aaaaaawkwaaaaard,” he whispers.

Speaking of awkward, Greed is seething. Bradley doesn’t so much as flinch when the two are tied together, but Greed feels his flesh burn everywhere it makes contact with Bradley’s.

“No,” he says, shaking his head furiously. “NO!”

“What’s the problem, Greed?” Bradley asks, without looking at him. “Aren’t you pleased you’re going to win a challenge for the first and only time?”

Greed activates his ultimate shield to stab Bradley in the face, but the Fuhrer quickly deflects it by ramming Greed into the nearest tree. With a grunt, Greed slumps against the wood.

“You won’t win!” Greed forces through his teeth. “I’ll throw this challenge. I’ll  _get you off this island_ , Wrath! And that palace will be mine.”

Bradley stalks forward, dragging Greed as he goes. He digs his heels into the sand, but is still lugged along.

“Hey! You bastard! Answer me!” Greed yells.

Silently, Bradley takes his position at the beginning of the course, as if Greed were nothing more than a duffel bag slung across his shoulder.

“Go, father!” Selim cheers from the chairs Father created with alchemy. Madame Christmas sets Berthold Hawkeye’s remains on its own seat. Breda pulls a hamburger out of his coat and takes a bite. Havoc’s mouth waters.

“Where did you get that!?” he demands.

Breda swallows and pats his stomach. “The CBS lunch buffet! We were all treated to a meal!”

The other family guests nod in agreement, a few murmurs of delight slipping in.

Dumbly, Havoc asks, “Well, what about Hawkeye’s dad? What did you do with  _his_ food?”

“We poured a strawberry daiquiri into the urn,” says Christmas, giving it a tap.

Riza’s jaw drops. “You did  _what_ , now?”

“I had a pina colada,” says Buccaneer gruffly. He rests his giant chainsaw arm against his lap and smiles. “They stuck a tiny umbrella in it.”

“You poured a frozen drink into my father’s ashes!” Riza cries, outraged. “Who gave you the right?”

Jeff Probst clears his throat.  
“So,” he says, nodding at the obstacle course. “Uh…Survivors ready?”

Everyone scrambles into position, some quite begrudgingly. Olivier closes her eyes and tries to focus. If she pretends it’s anyone but Alex, maybe she can get through.

She looks into the stands and meets Buccaneer’s eyes. She can’t let him down. He’s her subordinate. If she shows weakness he’ll surely spread it all over Briggs and she’ll lose all her credibility. She can’t have that.

But if she wins…then Alex is also safe from tonight’s elimination. Which means she can’t vote him out.

“AND GO!” yells Jeff Probst.

The pairs take off and Gradley is immediately in the lead. With a howl, Greed reaches for anything he can grab onto in order to slow them down, but Bradley is too fast. They make it to the wire maze within seconds.

“Greed and Bradley with a great start!” Jeff Probst says.

Greed curses loudly as the two maneuver–or rather, Bradley does as Greed is nothing more than dead weight at this point.

Somewhere toward the beginning of the maze, Ed’s metal arm gets tangled up, causing him and Roy to fall over.

“GOD DAMMIT, FULLMETAL!” Roy screams, wrestling with the wires. Ed’s face presses uncomfortably against Roy’s sweaty chest.

“Hurry the hell up, Colonel,” Ed gasps, his cheeks crushed as Roy flattens the boy’s face between his body and the ground while he attempts to free them.

“Oh my god, you smell like a corpse,” Ed manages through a gag. He turns his head, burying his nose in the sand.

Roy stops what he’s doing and stares at Edward, thoroughly offended.

“Riza and Lan Fan catching up!” Jeff Probst yells, and surely enough Team Bodyguard somersaults through the maze with ease. That is, until Lan Fan trips and Riza smacks into a wall of wires face-first. The lieutenant falls over with a moan.

“Never mind,” says Jeff Probst.

“Oops!” Lan Fan says innocently. “I am so terribly sorry.” She brings her face close to her partner’s and mockingly adds, “No hard feelings, Lieutenant?”

From the ground, Riza–now with bright red cuts crisscrossed over her face–growls.

“You did that on purpose,” she says.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lan Fan replies. She hoists herself and Riza up, the latter stumbling into another wire that cuts across her neck and draws blood. Lan Fan looks her partner up and down and makes a  _tsk_  sound. “Oh, Lieutenant, you need to be more careful.”

“Hey, hey!” Jeff Probst yells, pointing at a pair somewhere in the center of the maze. “NO CHOKING! NO…” he trails off and slumps back. “Ah, whatever.”

Olivier releases her brother’s throat and kicks him in the shin. His eyes sparkle with tears of emotional distress.

“Bradley and Greed–whoa,  _HEY_!” Jeff Probst shouts in rage as Greed slices through the wall and hugs it tightly. Black shield material creeps up the wood, melding him to it–because that’s totally within his realm of capabilities in this fanfic universe as of chapter 3.

“You can’t  _break_  the challenge! Someone has to pay for that!” Jeff Probst yells. “That wall was donated to us from the set of NCIS!”

“But, Jeff Probst,” Heiderich whispers. “You told Dante and I to break into the studio after dark and not let anyone see us take the wall. And then you told us to say Ryan Seacrest sent us if anyone–”

“Heiderich, kindly shut up,” Jeff Probst says, keeping his eyes fixed on the challenge.

Bradley braces his foot against the wall and pulls, but Greed’s ultimate shield keeps them firmly in place. Bradley glowers.

Greed looks down in alarm, realizing that his impromptu plan is, in fact, working. He throws his head back and laughs maniacally.

“hahahHAA _HAHAHA_!” Greed ecstatically kicks at the wall. “Time to kiss your palace goodbye, Wrath!”

“ _Mrergh_!” Bradley punches the wall so hard it dents, but Greed does not budge. He grins diabolically. He won. He  _finally_  won. After days upon days of suffering at the hands of his opulent living and condescending disposition, the superior homunculus has come out on top.

“What can I say?” says Greed. “I’m soft for underdog stories.”

Team Havolina exits the maze next, for they appear to be the only pair who doesn’t utterly loathe one another.

“Hold on,” Havoc says as his hoists himself and Rebecca up onto the wall. He scurries up with squirrel-like agility, Rebecca dangling off his side, staring up at him in awe. For the first time, she doesn’t see Havoc as the guy who ate a sandy meatball off the ground, or swallowed a chicken bone whole. She sees him for something far more important. More  _profound_.

She sees him as a one way ticket to the end of the game if she plays her cards right.

 _And_  he’s in love with her! Oh, this could not be more perfect. She slips her arms around his rock-hard waist and whispers, “Jean, you’re so strong!”

Havoc looks down at her and nearly loses his balance from the astonishment. Holy _shit_ , did Regina Catalina just flirt with him mid-challenge?

“I’m going to win this for us, baby,” he says, punctuating it with an awkwardly seductive purr.

Rebecca bites back the instinctive urge to cringe. Instead, she forces a smile and presses her cheek to his stubbly face with a giggle.

Back in the maze, Roy has finally extricated himself and Ed from the wires. They hastily continue through. Meanwhile, Lan Fan stares up at the wall and down at her one arm, debating how exactly she’s going to make it up.

“I’ll carry us over,” Riza says.

“Over my dead body,” Lan Fan mutters. She jumps, grabbing a handhold and swings her legs up for the next. Riza’s head smacks against the wood. White stars explode across her vision.

From the stands, Fu watches keenly, sitting cross legged on his chair with his hands on either of his knees. He narrows his eyes, but offers no words of encouragement or advice.

They make it up, and Riza’s head feels very light. Okay, she’s done trying to play good teammate. This is officially war.

Havolina splashes into the ocean and the two work together to swim toward the flag.

“HAVOC AND…” Jeff Probst pauses, “Uh…his partner in the water.”

“Her name is Rosanna, you moldy eggplant!” Havoc yells with his fist in the air. The motion causes them both to sink. Rebecca gasps and shrieks, “SWIM, SWIM!”

“The Armstrongs falling way behind,” says Jeff Probst. “Not even in this anymore.”

Buccaneer stares at Olivier in shock as she rolls over Alex to keep him from leading them out of the maze.

“Olivier!” Armstrong pleads. “We can still make it–”

“I REFUSE!” Olivier declares. “I’ve made up my mind! Overt physical strength is thinly veiled weakness! I don’t need to win the challenge to prove myself!”

Riza swims through the water at top speed, swiping Lan Fan’s head underwater at every given opportunity. The girl thrashes, kneeing the lieutenant in the gut.

“ROY AND ED GETTING BACK IN IT!” Jeff Probst exclaims, bouncing in his wheelchair, then hissing in pain. From the stands, Madame Christmas makes a face. Then she claps once.

“Come on, Roy Boy,” she murmurs, half-heartedly. “You can do it.”

“Just a few steps more!” Hohenheim calls out. “Edward, you’re close! I’m so proud!”

Ed looks back with abhorrence. He tugs on Mustang’s arm and hisses, “We have to throw the challenge.”

Roy blinks and stares at the kid. “What? Are you insane?”

“If we win, I have to deal with his dumb ass for the rest of the day,” Ed says. “I mean, come on. It’s not like we have a shot at winning  _anyway_.”

“But I haven’t seen Aunt Chris since I blew up her bar,” Roy says with a frown.

“If you throw the challenge, I’ll add an extra ten cenz to our bet,” Ed negotiates.

“Hell no! I cannot be bought with–”

“And I’ll get you a new shirt.”

“Deal,” says Roy, shaking Ed’s stiff metal hand. When he lets go, Ed’s forefinger falls off. He looks down at it with a sigh.

“Havoc and Delilah just a few strokes away!” Jeff Probst says. “Can they make it?”

Meanwhile, Greed continues to laugh uproariously from the wall. Bradley casts a rapid glance at Havoc and then sighs.

“Are you finished, Greed?” Bradley asks.

Greed stops laughing and quizzically lifts a brow. “Wha–”

Bradley kicks off the wall, effectively tearing a portion of it away along with Greed and his ultimate shield. He leaps straight over the wall in a single flip and then runs across the water’s surface, the balls of his feet making tiny splashes. All the while, Greed and his enormous plank of wood are dragged through, creating a massive wave that knocks every single one of his competitors out of the challenge. Havoc and Rebecca are swept away.

“NooOOOOO!” Havoc screams just before the wave folds over them and they are pulled underwater.

Instinctively, Heiderich shields Jeff Probst with his own body. A wall rises from the earth, courtesy of Father to keep everyone outside the challenge course dry.

Bradley snatches the flag up and runs back across the water at full speed. He handsprings it back over to Jeff Probst, roundhouse kicks the wall in half, and presents the flag to the quivering Survivor host. Meekly, he takes it.

Bradley glares at the ropes that bind him to Greed and they instantly snap. The homunculus falls over and retches.

“Mrergh,” Bradley says.

Greed vomits all over the sand.

“Fuhrer Bradley,” Jeff Probst breathes, his hands trembling by his sides. “That was the greatest comeback in Survivor history.”

“Mrergh,” Bradley repeats, a bit more thoughtfully.

Jeff Probst shakes his head and stammers, “Uh, B-Bradley and Greed win immunity!”

Selim Bradley jumps in the air, clapping his hands. “Yay, father!”

Jeff Probst nudges Heiderich who wheels the host through the sand so he’s in between the two winners. He places the seashell necklace around Bradley’s neck and tosses an additional seashell at Greed’s feet.

“This.is. _bullshit_!” Greed howls.

“Greed, Bradley,” says Jeff Probst with a nod. “The two of you are safe from tonight’s vote, and you get to spend the remainder of today with your families.”

Riza and Lan Fan drag themselves up the shore, sopping wet. Havoc and Rebecca clamber up behind them. Even Team Armstrong as well as Ed and Roy, who hadn’t even made it into the water, are totally drenched.

“What the hell just happened?” Ed asks.

“I…I think Bradley walked on water,” Roy says uncertainly. Then he looks at Riza who now sports a black eye alongside the wire cuts on her face.

“Oh my god,” he says.

“Yes?” Father replies.

“Lieutenant, what–”

Riza meets his eyes and relays a silent message. It says,  _Your ally is a problem and we need to get rid of her._

Roy is quick to shake his head.  _And give up the power I currently have on this island? Hell no._ If there’s one thing Roy Mustang loves more than Riza Hawkeye, it’s control–well, okay, and spinach quiche, lest he forget. But  _only_  those two things.

“Loved ones,” Jeff Probst says dismissively, “skedaddle! All except Father and Selim.”

The losing loved ones form a single file line and start to leave. Lan Fan lunges forward and yells, “Wait! We don’t even get to say goodbye?”

Jeff Probst laughs coldly. “I’m sorry? Are you asking if the  _losers_  of this challenge are entitled to a reward?”

“In previous seasons of Survivor,  _all_  the castaways get an opportunity to spend time with their loved ones,” she retorts.

“And how would you know that?” Jeff Probst challenges.

“Plot convenience, of course.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, this season is extraordinarily low budget and we just don’t have funds or care to make you all happy,” says Jeff Probst. He looks to Team Gradley one last time, though Greed is still keeled over on the ground.

“Congratulations, you two” he says. “Even though your quasi-immortality and super strength granted you both an unfair advantage in the challenge, we’re going to completely gloss over that and reward you over the commonfolk anyway. As for the rest of you, Tribal Council is tonight, where one of you will be voted out. Head back to camp. You have much to discuss.”

He throws his arms in the air and says, “Heiderich! To the limo!”

Alfons Heiderich wheels him out of frame, leaving the dripping castaways, Selim and Father alone on the field.

 


	11. Episode 6 (Part 2)

Bradley and Selim immediately disappear into the palace. On command, the drawbridge rises, leaving no entrance past the alligator infested moat.

Greed and Father stand together on the beach, staring uncomfortably toward the horizon. The tide’s gentle push and pull licks the shore by their feet. Greed locks his hands behind his back, unsure of what to say.

“So,” says Father. He glances at Bradley’s luxurious dwelling. “Where do  _you_  sleep?”

“What? Oh.” Greed points to a pile of sand and leaves he’s heaped into a makeshift bed. It lies miserably beneath a palm tree adjacent to their campfire. “There, technically. But the entire island is actually mine.”

Father scrutinizes the area, then tilts his head back with disgust. He plugs his nose. “And what is that foul odor?”

Greed casts his gaze downward and grumbles, “Wrath’s African flowers.”

“Africa,” Father says ponderously. “Sounds unfamiliar. Which means I have yet to eradicate it.”

“Hey, slow your roll, pops!” Greed snaps. “You can’t have Africa. Not while I’m ruler of the world.”

Father gives him a death glare. In fact, his eyes actually glow a vibrant shade of red. Then the two lapse into yet another silence. Greed crosses his arms, pouting. Father jams his hands into his robe pockets.

At last, the series antagonist decides, “I’m going in too.”

He steps away from Greed and alchemically creates a walkway bridging from the beach, to the palace balcony. He disembarks, the bridge crumbling in his wake, and then walks inside.

Greed sits on the floor and tosses a handful of sand away.

* * *

Roy ventures deep into the jungle with Lan Fan on his heels. The girl looks at the ground with flushed cheeks and pursed lips, tugging her bandana away from her neck. Being the Colonel’s ally makes her feel filthier by the second, but so long as he has strength in numbers, her loyalty is as good as her life in this game.

“So, Lan Fan,” he says–practically _warbling_. Oh, how she despises him.

She swallows the revulsion and smiles. “Yes, ally?”

“I’ve decided that we’re voting for Olivier Armstrong,” he informs her, a casual lilt to his stupid voice. “Now that you have Greed back on your side, I figured you could deal with him. Catalina will be more difficult, but between Hawkeye and Havoc, we can probably manage. And you can leave Fullmetal to me.”

Lan Fan stops in her tracks, watching his back as he plods forward. How is this the same man who was tossed around like a sack of potatoes back on their old tribe? And more importantly, how has he managed to be even  _more_  insufferable?

“Why Armstrong?” Lan Fan questions.

Roy turns around, noting the new distance between them. He studies her through leery eyes, though the gesture lacks intimidation given the seaweed he has draped over his shoulders as a makeshift shirt.  He absently scratches a cluster of red bumps that mar his exposed, chiseled abs.

“Voting out Fullmetal or the major would be wasteful,” he says. “Neither one of them has any allies. But the General has hers. And she’s the only one besides Fullmetal who hasn’t pissed off Winry Rockbell. So not only does she have a guaranteed jury vote, but if we eliminate her now, we leave Catalina numberless, which leaves  _us_  with options. And, of course, we avoid the risk of her winning an immunity challenge if by some miracle Bradley slips.”

He says all of this without breaking her gaze. Lan Fan goes tense. Did he come up with that entire plan on the spot? Who even is this guy?

 

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“The Colonel worries me,” she says. “I cannot trust him. Everything he does is too calculated. How do I know I’m not just a piece of his elaborate plan? And, for that matter, how do the two lieutenants who are loyal to him?”

She brings her thumb to her chin and pauses thoughtfully. After a moment, she sighs. “I hate that there is nothing I can do. If I betray him, he has the numbers to make sure I pay for it.”

* * *

 

Roy turns around and continues on. As an afterthought, he says, “Oh, and if you ever touch the lieutenant again, I’ll eradicate you so easily, you’ll think it was Fullmetal ‘03 because no one will even remember that you exist.”

 

* * *

 

Olivier finds Greed sitting by the palace moat. Colored lights flash and flare from Bradley’s third story window and the ground beneath them shudders from the impact of a stereo’s bass. Greed’s fixed gaze has gone blank.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Olivier asks.

Greed breaks out of his trance. He looks at Olivier through hazy eyes. “Huh?”

 _Pathetic_ , she thinks, rolling her eyes. She takes a seat next to him, watching the water splash and tremble. She hears something that vaguely resembles LMFAO’s  _Party Rock Anthem_  seep through the palace wall.

“I don’t have time for bullshit,” Olivier says finally. Her eyes harden. “I’m voting for Alex tonight. Do I have your vote or not?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Greed turns to face her, closing his eyes. “You’re asking for a lot there, babe. What will you give  _me_  in exchange for this alliance?”

“I won’t toss you to the alligators,” Olivier says.

“I have an ultimate shield. I’m not afrai–HEY! HEY!” Greed screams as Olivier lifts her leg threateningly. He scoots away from the moat’s edge and hastily says, “I’ll hear you out!”

Olivier withdraws and glances over her shoulder. Alex has cracked open a coconut with his bare hands, setting the fruit in Rebecca’s. They both begin to sparkle.

“Disgusting,” she sneers. “And with  _my_  ally.”

“I don’t see the issue,” Greed says with caution. When Olivier’s hot glare finds him, his chest hitches, but he maintains his careful gaze on her. “He’s actually really helpful around camp.”

“I’m not Roy Mustang,” she says without preamble. “I’m not going to try and snake my way around this. I want Alex off the island because he is simply not cut out to win. If I’m going to lose to anyone, it’s going to be someone worthy, which he is not.”

“Why not vote out Mustang?” Greed asks.

“He’s not my problem right now,” says Olivier.

“You know if you go against him, you’ll lose,” Greed mutters.

Furiously, Olivier swings her leg back up, and Greed rolls away with an outcry. He breathes heavily from his position on the floor.

“Look!” he gasps. “Until Wrath loses immunity, I don’t care  _who_  we vote out.”

“Then vote wisely,” Olivier says. She gets up, roughly brushing the sand off her legs before stalking away. Maybe an hour later, as the sun begins to set, Greed drags his feet back to his campsite. He curls up underneath the tree that shades his sand bed, but sunlight assaults his eyes.

He immediately sits up.

This can’t be. He chose this tree  _specifically_  because the coconuts on top blocked the sunlight from…

As realization sets in, the color bleeds out of Greed’s world. Memories flicker in his brain, slowing to a stop to maybe an hour ago, when a coconut was placed in Reira Catalina’s hands.

Greed glances up. Surely enough, there is a hole in the coconut cluster. One that was deliberately picked out.

“Oh,” Greed says, jumping to his feet. He kicks a branch. “Oh,  _hell no_!”

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“He took  _my fucking coconuts_!” Greed yells, hacking into a tree with his sharpened shield hand.

* * *

 

He gets up and breaks into a sprint, falling back against a tree as he plans his next move. That bastard. One thing is sneaking around like Mustang and his dogs. Another is threatening to feed him to the gators like the General. But  _this?_

 

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

He hunches over, trembling from head to toe. Through a shuddering breath, he growls, “Nobody takes what’s mine and gets away with it.”

* * *

 

Greed runs his fingernails down the tree’s bark with a yell. Officially, this is war. And he will win.

 

* * *

He shimmies up the tree, Bradley’s party temporarily forgotten as he scans the island. His eyes find the Major laughing as he clinks his coconut half against another he appears to have given to Riza Hawkeye.

The two drink its sweet water.

Greed cannot believe his eyes. The nerve this guy has! How many other things has he stolen from his camp? He decides to investigate.

He jumps off his tree and darts over to Armstrong’s special area. In a fit of rage, he overturns all his belongings.

Bananas, leaves, some spears for fishing. Greed tosses each object over his shoulder, growing more and more furious by the second.

 

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“Everything. On. This. Island,” Greed forces through his teeth. “Belongs. To. Me.” He holds up a banana he found on his campsite and squeezes it until its mushy yellow insides spill out from between his fingers.

* * *

 

“Hey, you!” Rebecca playfully nudges Havoc by the shore. He blushes, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

“Hey, Rhiannon,” he says. His heart swells with joy. She actually sought  _him_  out this time.

She opts to ignore his ridiculous aversion to her name. Seriously, he’s totally called her by name in previous chapters. Either this fanfic has completely disregarded the concept of continuity, or he’s just an idiot.

“Look,” she says with a pout, running her finger up Havoc’s sternum, “The General and I are voting the Major off the island and we’d  _love_  to have your vote.” Her fingers find the bandana around his neck. She gives it a flirty tug.

Havoc frowns. Just a few minutes ago, Mustang gathered Hawkeye and himself to let them know Olivier would be their target of elimination. He left no room for argument.

“Baby,” he says softly, “You know I have allies I have to vote with.”

Rebecca swallows the bile that burns her tongue. She runs her fingers through his hair and presses her cheek to his shoulder.

“ _Jeeeeaaaaan_ ,” she croons.

“I know,” he sighs, wrapping her in his arms. God, he reeks. When was the last time he washed himself off? Rebecca takes a deep breath.

She stares unblinkingly into space for about two straight minutes until her eyes begin to water. Then she gasps, curling away from him, shaking with fake sobs.

“Rhonda?” Havoc touches her back. “Hey–”

“I thought you were different, Jean,” she weeps. “Different than all the other selfish jerks!”

“I  _am_  different!” he says.

“No, you’re not!” She gets up, wiping her eyes. “God, I should have known! I shouldn’t have let myself fall so in love with someone who would never put me first.” She turns to him one last time and croaks, “This is goodbye, Jean.”

“Rita, no!” He stumbles on his way up and falls on his face. When he lifts his gaze, he sees that she’s already gone. He makes a fist against the sand and groans.

“Shit,” he says. “What do I do?”

 

* * *

Elsewhere, Ed sits with Mustang’s shirt and Olivier’s nets. He tosses the shirt ribbons with a despondent groan.

 

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I promised the Colonel a shirt,” Ed says, running his hands down his face in exhaustion. “But I can’t figure out how to put it back together.”

* * *

 

“Dammit!” Ed growls as he fumbles with scraps of fabric he’s futilely knotted together. He’s been working on this all day, and still nothing. And it isn’t like he can just forget about it. Not unless he wants the Colonel to ensure his elimination.

He’s deep enough into the jungle that no one can see him, but at the same time, deep enough so that the sunlight barely finds him through the foliage. Pretty soon, it’ll be too dark to work.

“This is hopeless!” he moans, forcefully throwing the wad of shirt pieces to the ground. “And we’ll be leaving for tribal council any damn minute!”

As if on cue, he hears Hawkeye’s distant voice. “Has anyone seen Edward? We need to leave.”

Ed’s heart races. He’s running out of options. There’s no way he can meet the Colonel for tribal council without a new shirt. Not unless he has a death wish. Impulsively, he flattens the shirt against the ground and claps his hands. He slams his palms against the fabric.

Blue light crackles all around it. When the alchemic energy dies out, Mustang’s shirt is perfectly intact.

Ed sighs with relief. God, that was so easy. So–

“Oooohhh!”

Ed’s head snaps up, his heart stalling. Standing a few feet away is Alfons Heiderich. His blue eyes have gone wide and his mouth forms a perfect O. He bounces on the balls of his feet, pointing at Ed.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK_.

Ed begins to panic.

“Y-y-you,” Heiderich stammers. “YOU DID THE–”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ed jumps to his feet and rushes over to Jeff Probst’s sidekick. He covers his mouth with his automail hand and says, “Shhh! Shhh! Shh!”

Heiderich moans under Ed’s hand, trembling from his own astonishment. Ed racks his brain. God, how the hell is he going to get himself out of this one?

 

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I did the first thing I could think of,” Ed says. “The only thing I felt might just work.”

* * *

 

“This can be our little secret, right?” Ed asks with haste. He smiles earnestly. The looks unsettlingly like Al. “Right,  _brother_?”

Suddenly, Heiderich’s jaw drops under his hand. So Ed does the brotherly thing. He pushes it back up, closing the boy’s mouth.

“B-brother?” Alfons questions, tears filling his eyes.

“…that’s right,” Ed says slowly, precariously raising his palm. “Because, see, we brothers, we have to stick together in times like these, right?”

“Brother,” Heiderich says again.

“Right.” Ed shakes his head. God, what has he gotten himself into? “Brothers…we protect each other. So…it’s really important that you don’t tell Jeff Probst what you just saw, okay?”

Heiderich nods enthusiastically. “Sure, brother! Of course! This will be our secret, brother!”

Ed smiles with tight lips. Suddenly, Hawkeye breaks through some bushes, sighing with relief when she finds them.

“There you are,” she says. No one follows her, so she’s alone. She glances at Heiderich.

“What’s going on?” she asks slowly.

“Brotherly bonding!” Heiderich says, slinging an arm across Ed’s shoulders. Ed tries his best not to look irked. “Right, brother?”

“Yeah,” says Ed. “What he said.”

Riza looks unconvinced, but she makes no comment, until her eyes find the shirt by Ed’s feet.

“Is that the Colonel’s shirt?” she asks.

Ed swipes it off the ground. “What? No! Mustang’s shirt was ripped to shreds! This is a shirt I had with me!”

Riza squints. She takes the shirt from his hands and examines it. “No, this is definitely his shirt.” What she doesn’t say is that she’s seen it on the floor of her bedroom so many nights, she’d recognize it anywhere.

She runs her hand across it. “There are no tears or seams.” As the pieces come together, she gasps.

“You used alchemy!” she exclaims.

“Hawkeye, I will give you five thousand cenz if you play along with whatever bullshit I come up with,” Ed says.

If anyone else had found him, maybe he could have gotten away with it. But you can’t lie to the Lieutenant. They call her the Hawk’s Eye! She’d pick apart his drivel with her savage beak and feed him to her young without hesitation.

Riza ponders for a moment. She shakes her head. “Twenty thousand.”

“WHAT?” Ed cries.

“This is a two million cen secret,” she says, crossing her arms. “Take it or leave it.”

“How dare you try and bargain with my brother like that!” Heiderich says.

Ed sighs. “Heiderich, not now.”

“I’ll have you know, he’s the title character while you’re nothing but an extension of him!” Heiderich continues. “Hell, in Conqueror of Shamballa, even  _I_  had more significance than you!”

“Is this kid still talking?” Riza asks. Her eyes avert to her fellow castaway. “Well, Edward?”

Ed has no choice but to comply.

“Fine,” he says, reaching out. She gives his flesh hand a firm shake.

Heiderich, seeming to remember his purpose for even being on the island in the first place, snaps out of some kind of stupor and says, “Oh, I almost forgot! I need to retrieve Greed and Bradley’s loved ones!”

He rushes out of the jungle, winking at Ed before he disappears. Ed falls back against a tree, holding his head in his hands.

“Should I ask?” Riza says.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ed grumbles.

Over by the beach, Heiderich stops at the edge of Bradley’s moat, staring at the estate in wonder. Greed comes up next to him and claps the kid’s shoulder.

“In all its splendor,” he says bitterly.

“I need to get Father and Selim,” says Heiderich with a frown. He looks at Greed. “How do we get in?”

“You don’t,” Greed says.

Heiderich brings his fingertips together, furrowing his brows. “Oh dear.”

* * *

 

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

“Olivier, I am overjoyed we were able to ally at last!” Armstrong says, scooping his sister into a bone crushing hug. Normally, she’d judo flip him if he so much as laid a hand on her. But tonight…let’s just say she’s in relatively good spirits.

“Of course,” says Olivier, patting her brother’s arm. When they disperse, she grimaces. She and Rebecca dip their torches into the fire at the same time.

“What was that about?” Rebecca asks in a whisper.

“Before we left, I told him we were voting out Mustang,” Olivier replies. “Needless to say, he was beside himself when I insinuated he’d be a part of our alliance.”

The castaways all find their respective seats. Roy cannot stop running his hands across his shirt.

“Fullmetal, how did you even–”

“I told you!” Ed says with annoyance, “Lieutenant Hawkeye is an all star seamstress. And looking at your welted up chest was enough to convince her to help.”

Roy looks at Riza, stunned. He’d never known this about her, in all the years they’ve been together.

“Yes,” she says monotonously. “I…love to sew.”

“Where’d you get the materials?” Roy questions.

“You know,” Riza says, not looking at him lest he read the deceit in her eyes. “Uh…around.”

Jeff Probst stands by the podium as everyone gets situated. He nods and says, “I will now bring in the members of our jury.”

He looks toward the walkway, and in comes Winry, freshly showered and looking gorgeous as ever. Ed’s face turns bright scarlet. Damn it, he’d forgotten how much he missed her.

“Winry,” Jeff Probst says, “voted out in the last tribal council.”

She glares at Mustang and his allies before smiling fondly at Ed. Then she takes a seat on the special jury bench.

Jeff Probst casts a glance at the torches and notes that one is not lit.

“Wait a second.” He scans the tribe. “Where’s Fuhrer Bradley?”

At that moment, a man in a black polo and khaki shorts walks across the tribal council floor with a manila envelope. The FedEx logo is embroidered onto his breast. He pulls an electronic notepad from his pocket and looks the Survivor host up and down.

“Jeff Probst?” he asks.

Warily, he replies, “Um…that is me.”

“Sign here,” says FedEx guy, thrusting the pad into his hands. Jeff Probst does as he’s told and receives the envelope. He looks at the sender.

_From: King Bradley.  
To: Jeff Probst_

“He paid for express mail,” says the FedEx guy. “Just so you’d get this in time.”

“How did you even get here?” Roy demands. “We’re uncharted!”

“Helicopter,” FedEx guy replies. “The Fuhrer paid for me to be airlifted from the nearest post office. I landed on the helipad of that enormous mansion he has on the beach–great place, by the way. The jacuzzi is to die for.”

“ _Jacuzzi_?” Greed’s blood grows very hot.

“Well, have a good…whatever this is!” The FedEx guy walks out of frame, leaving a puzzled Jeff Probst with an envelope in hand.

“Well?” Ed presses. “What the hell does it say?”

Jeff Probst tears the envelope open to find it nests an even nicer envelope made out of parchment, closed with a wax seal. He runs his finger over a perfect replica of the Fuhrer’s face imprinted into the wax.

Jeff Probst opens the envelope and reads letter inside. “Selim clogged the toilet. Had to deal with it. My vote is attached.”

“How does he have indoor plumbing?” Riza asks.

“Where did he get a wax seal?” Havoc adds.

“I’m sorry, are we all just going to gloss over the  _helipad_?” Rebecca exclaims.

Greed is so angry, he can’t even feel his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever despised a contestant more,” Jeff Probst says, crushing the letter in his hand. “And that’s saying something because Russell Hantz played, what, three times?” He walks past his podium and sits in Bradley’s empty seat on the bench.

“Did you guys know there’s a poll going on right now, asking viewers who their favorite is?” Jeff Probst asks.

“Why are you sitting with us?’ Ed asks.

“And did you know,” Jeff Probst continues, “that I google myself every day to ensure I’m still the most beloved host on television?”

“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other,” says Lan Fan.

“Wait, where do I rank on the fan favorite poll?” Roy asks.

“Bradley leads the poll by sixty four percent!” Jeff Probst cries. “The viewers  _love_  him and I don’t know why! But that’s not even the worst part.  _No_ , the worst part is that posts about me and traffic on jeffprobst.com have slowed down by over thirty percent in the same breath!”

“Look,” Ed cuts in. “I hate Bradley as much as the next guy, but–”

“I’m with you, Jeff Probst,” says Greed, swinging his legs up onto Havoc’s lap. He laces his fingers behind his head. “It’s a shame no one, Wrath included, appreciates the work you put into this show.”

“Right?” Jeff Probst says.

“Oh, for the love of–” Olivier begins. Her heads drops. “Can we  _just_  get to the tribal council?”

“Who even cares?” Jeff Probst groans. “You all know exactly who you’re voting for. Why do we need ten minutes of scripted exposition?”

“This isn’t scripted,” Lan Fan says.

“You’re characters in a fanfic. You do not have an ounce of free will,” Jeff Probst says. He looks into the fire very meaningfully. “We’re nothing but cogs in life’s evil machine.”

“Dude, it’s just internet traffic,” Havoc says.

“You know, Havoc, why don’t you go get stabbed–oh,  _wait_!” Jeff Probst laughs humorlessly. “That already happened to you!”

“Yeah, seriously,” Ed says, looking at Havoc. “How are you walking right now? Lan Fan has her automail and we’re already on the second Greed. By this point in the manga canon, you should still be in a wheelchair.”

“Plot convenience?” Havoc offers.

“Fair enough,” says Lan Fan.

“Alright, you could say my mood is sour tonight,” says Jeff Probst, bringing his legs up and sitting cross legged on the bench. “So if there’s anything you want to discuss that I need to mediate, go ahead and say it. If not, we can get straight to the voting.”

“That’s not how this works!” Havoc says. “What about the  _indecisive_  voters? Are you just going to out them by making them speak up first?”

“Damn straight,” says Jeff Probst.

“That’s not fair!”

“Fine, I’ll ask a question,” Ed says. And at that moment, Heiderich peeks out from behind a pillar, brimming with delight. Ed sighs deeply, doing his best to ignore him. “I get why Scar was disqualified way back when. But say someone were to use alchemy for a menial task that wouldn’t actually help them advance in the game. Would it still be–”

“Alchemy is forbidden,” Jeff Probst says, growing very serious. He watches Ed with grave intensity. “And if I were to find out anyone on this island committed the cardinal sin…I’d let Chimera!Tucker deal with them. Right, big boy?”

“That’s right,” Chimera!Tucker whispers from behind his camera, pleased to be acknowledged for the first time in several chapters.

Ed gulps, buzzing with terror. He looks down at his knees and clasps his hands. A few seats away, Riza trains her berating eyes on him.

“I have something to say,” says Greed.

Everyone’s attention shifts his way. He brings his legs down, planting his feet on the ground.

“I don’t think people are seeing this for the social game it is,” Greed says. “Sure, it’d be easy to vote out Mustang for being insufferable or the General for her hostility, but do they really stand a chance in the end? The winner of this game is chosen by the jury, after all. I think we need to be more worried about those who  _haven’t_  done anything to piss the tribe off.”

Olivier’s eyes narrow curiously. If she hadn’t sworn to silence until Alex’s elimination, perhaps she’d question him outwardly. Alas.

“Good thinking,” says Lan Fan. “I say we vote out Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

“Hey!” Ed and Roy shout at once. Roy gives Ed a questioning look. The tiny alchemist sinks into his seat with a hot blush.

 _If the lieutenant is eliminated_ , Ed thinks,  _she’ll out me to Jeff Probst for sure!_  He makes fists with his hands.  _Dammit! Now I have to protect her too!_

“But if we lose Hawkeye, we lose our island seamstress,” Ed offers meekly.

Riza brings her palm to her forehead with a sigh. At this rate, Edward is bound to get them  _both_  thrown into Chimera!Tucker’s van.

“Worry not, Edward Elric!” Armstrong exclaims. “For sewing is a skill that has been passed down–”

“We need to  _open our eyes_ ,” Greed says, pressing his fingers to his throbbing temples. “The nice people are the ones we should be worried about. Not to mention the nice people who are physical threats too.”

“At this point, everyone on this island is a power-hungry vulture willing to step on whoever it takes to win,” Roy says. “You can literally only be talking about one person.”

“Speak for yourself!” Havoc snaps. “I, for one, know that there is an angel among us with a voice like music and boobs like sunshine!”

Rebecca’s eyes widen. Riza looks between her friend and subordinate with a mixture of inquiry and total judgement.

“I think this tribal council has been crazy enough for all of us,” says Jeff Probst.

“We haven’t discussed anything,” Rebecca protests.

“I don’t care. I’m tired and have an exfoliating pedicure in less than forty minutes. So let’s get on with this.” Jeff Probst rises from the tribal council bench and reclaims his position behind the podium. He exhaustedly gestures toward the walkway. “It is time to vote. Greed, you have immunity. You can either keep it or give it to someone else.”

“It’s mine. No one can have it.”

“You cannot vote for Greed. Or Bradley. Everybody else is fair game,” says Jeff Probst. He nods. “Ed, you’re up.”

“But we haven’t–”

“Just go, Fullmetal,” Roy groans.

Grumbling under his breath, he gets up and makes his way to the voting table. He uncaps the pen and grabs a piece of paper.

He writes  _General Armstrong_  and holds it up.

“Alright,” he whispers, “I’m really sorry about this. But right now, I have to vote with the Colonel. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him and you’ve gotta keep your enemies–”

“Psst!”

Ed jumps out of his skin, knocking the voting pot off the table. He hastily fumbles for it mid-air and miraculously catches it before it hits the ground. With a racing heart, he looks to his left where Alfons Heiderich peeks from behind a plant.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ed hisses.

“Brother, I just wanted to let you know that I’m rooting for you,” Heiderich says with a thumbs-up.

“That’s great,” Ed whispers harshly. “I’m thrilled. Now  _get out_  before Jeff Probst sees you!”

“Quick hug?” Heiderich asks, extending his arms.

“Edward, what is taking so long?” Jeff Probst shouts from the tribal council floor.

Ed shoves Heiderich back into the darkness. Nonchalantly, he calls out, “Haha! Dropped the pen! I’ll be right there!”

Heiderich chuckles. “Brother, you didn’t drop your pen! You were just saying that so Jeff Probst doesn’t grow suspicious.”

“Nothing gets by you, Heiderich.”

“Edward!” Jeff Probst calls again.

Ed places his vote into the pot and glares at Heiderich. “Get out of here!”

“I’ll see you later, brother!” Heiderich says before disappearing into the plants. Ed releases a long breath and returns to the tribal council area.

Riza goes up next and when she returns, she is followed by Rebecca, and then Alex Armstrong. When he takes a seat back on the bench, Greed is up.

He writes,  _Major_  and holds his vote up.

“Choke on those coconuts,” he says, and then folds the note in half. He deposits it into the pot and returns to his seat.

Roy goes up and writes Olivier’s name, drawing a heart at the end. He holds it up with a smug grin.

“Well, General,” he says, “it’ll be a shame not to see your beautiful face every day. But this is for all the physical and emotional distress. And when I win and become Fuhrer, I can only hope you’ll happily work beneath me.”

Once Roy finishes, Lan Fan casts her vote. And after her is Jean Havoc who scrunches his hair between his fingers, breathing deeply.

“What do I do?” he groans. His pen taps against the page. “Do I vote for strategy or do I vote for love? Do I love Rosetta Catalina’s boobs more than I want to win two million cenz? Should I betray the Colonel after everything we’ve been through?”

“Boobs,” Havoc murmurs. “Loyalty. Boobs. Loyalty. Boobs. Loyalty.”

When he finally decides, he stumbles back to his seat in a daze, his face a shade paler. He can’t remember the last time he had to make a choice this difficult.

Olivier goes up last. She writes  _ALEX_  in her loopy script and holds it up. She smirks.

“I always dreamed of what to say when this opportunity finally came,” she says. “But I now realize that no words are sufficient for the satisfaction I feel.”

She drops her vote into the pot and returns to her seat. Jeff Probst yawns and checks his watch.

“I guess I’ll tally the votes,” he murmurs and shuffles to the voting station.

When he returns, he says, “Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately.” He opens the pot. “I’ll read the votes.”

“First vote,” Jeff Probst pulls it out and reveals it. It’s Roy’s, with his punctuating heart. “Olivier.”

Recognizing the penmanship, Olivier glares at Mustang. He waves with facetious innocence. She simmers in her seat.

Jeff Probst pulls out the next. He chuckles and turns it around. “Alex. One vote for either Armstrong.”

The Major goes tense, making that anime  _tch_  sound. Who could have voted for him? Wasn’t the vote going to Mustang tonight?

“Olivier,” Jeff Probst reads, setting the next vote aside. “Two Olivier, one Alex.”

“Who the hell…” Olivier begins. Then she calms herself. Probably Mustang and his dogs. Whatever. She knows only Havoc and Hawkeye are unwaveringly loyal. The others could have easily been swayed.

Jeff Probst pulls out a vote that reads  _MAJOR_  and says, “Alex. We’re back at a tie. Two Olivier, two Alex.”

The next vote says  _General Armstrong_. “Olivier.” Jeff Probst sets it aside. “Olivier back in the lead.”

 _Mustang, Havoc, and Hawkeye_ , she counts mentally. That makes three. She’s certain Greed and Lan Fan voted with her. And Edward Elric…perhaps, he’s the swing vote. She takes a measured breath. She will  _not_  panic. Not here. Not on camera and certainly not over something so trivial.

Jeff Probst holds up a vote that says  _Major._  “Alex. And we are back at a tie with Three votes to each Armstrong.”

“I don’t understand,” the Major says with watering eyes. “What has happened?”

“General Armstrong,” Jeff Probst reads, and now the General feels her hands begin to tremble with rage. She tucks them under her lap. She will  _not_  be eliminated before Alex or Mustang. There’s simply no way.

Jeff Probst turns the next vote around. “Major Armstrong.” He looks into the pot and pulls out the next vote. “That’s four votes Alex, four votes Olivier, and one vote left.”

Alex sits there, frozen and speechless. Betrayal sinks into his chest like poison. He shakes his head, looking at his sister for an explanation. But she deliberately fixes her gaze elsewhere.

Jeff Probst reads the vote with a frown. He turns it around. “Colonel Mustang.”

Roy’s head snaps up. Then he looks over at the tribe accusingly.

“Who the hell voted for me?” he demands.

“It doesn’t matter, sir,” says Riza. “The Major and General’s votes outnumber yours.”

“Okay, but–”

“Wait, so who’s eliminated?” Ed asks. “We have a tie.”

“Well,” says Jeff Probst, shifting from one foot to the other. “Customarily, we do a re-vote in situations like this.”

“Hey.” Greed nods toward the envelope that rests on Jeff Probst’s podium. “What about Wrath’s vote?”

Everyone falls silent. The fire’s crackling intensifies, its flames casting dramatic lights and shadows across the tribal council walls. Jeff Probst slowly reaches for the envelope.

The tribe takes a collective breath as he pulls out a small piece of parchment paper and reads the final vote.

“Seventh person voted off of  _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the second member of our jury.” The castaways hang on every word, involuntarily inching forward. After a beat, Jeff Probst turns it over. “Major Armstrong.”

Olivier releases the fists she hadn’t even noticed were clenched. Roy looks as if someone just clubbed him in the head. He does the math in his brain, trying to calculate where exactly they misstepped. Hawkeye, Havoc, Lan Fan, Fullmetal, and himself should have  _at least_  tied the vote, even if Catalina and Greed couldn’t be swayed.

One of  _his_  allies has to have voted with the General.

Roy looks ahead calmly, but his blood boils inside. Who would dare?

Major Armstrong gets up slowly, his eyes surprisingly dry. He nods in acceptance and hobbles over to Jeff Probst, torch in hand. He is cool. He is collected.

“Shocked?” Jeff Probst asks.

The major erupts into tears, setting his torch against the podium and wielding a debilitating hug on Jeff Probst. The host screams.

“Oh, Jeff Probst!” he wails. “‘Twas an honor to play your game! It was most rewarding!”

Jeff Probst gasps incoherencies, turning bright purple. He kicks his legs up, trying to free himself.

“I will never forget what we experienced on this island!” he goes on. “The beautiful moments we shared!”

Jeff Probst weakly beats Armstrong’s arm in a futile attempt of breaking away.

“I can only hope someone deserving is to win at the very end!”

Armstrong releases Jeff Probst and he slumps to the tribal council floor like a rag doll. He gets on all fours, gasping for breath.

He reaches up, curling his fingers around the podiums edge, and hoists himself up. He shakily grabs his snuffing tool and wheezes, “Oh my god. I’m seeing black.”

Armstrong sniffs.

Jeff Probst clears his throat and tries to resume. He says, “Armstrong…the tribe has…” he pants. “The tribe has spoken.”

He puts out his torch flame and Armstrong is dismissed. He shoots his sister one last glance, which she pointedly ignores, before departing.

When he’s gone, Jeff Probst rubs his aching ribs.

“Normally, I’d give you guys hell for voting out such a nice man.” He shudders. “But…I’m thinking maybe this was for the best. Head back to camp or whatever. It’s been a long night.”

__

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Alex Louis Armstrong**

“While I am astonished by my sister’s behavior, I am not angry,” says Armstrong. “I can only hope she prospers the way she sees fit. Now that I have joined Miss Rockbell on the jury, I suppose all there is left to do is wait and see.” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “This is goodbye to CBS. I thank you for an unforgettable experience.”

One final time, he strips, twirling before the camera. Rose petals rain over him and burst into glitter once they make contact with his skin. Because that’s what it means to be an Armstrong.

__

Votes:  
Ed: Olivier  
Bradley: Alex  
Greed: Alex  
Riza: Olivier  
Roy: Olivier  
Havoc: Alex  
Lan Fan: Olivier  
Armstrong: Roy  
Olivier: Alex  
Rebecca: Alex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LAST!!! Sorry for the length! I tried to cut it down a lot but ended up writing a longer tribal council than anticipated D: 
> 
> I hope you guys are still enjoying! Also, I’ve gotten inquiries on Tumblr about Bradley and him being too powerful. Just…uh…trust me? Maybe? Who knows. This fic is a hot mess anyway. And this chapter might have been among the messiest. 
> 
> And of course, nothing but love for actual Alfons Heiderich. He’s a cutie who I’d assume would be a really good sport in letting me pick on him this way.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and humoring this. Writing this dumb, silly story wouldn’t be any fun at all without people to share it with.


	12. Episode 7 (Part 1)

Greed is awoken by a kick of sand to the face. He springs into a sitting position, furiously swiping at his cheeks, mouth and forehead. His burning eyes fly open to see the Fuhrer sprinting up and down the beach, stopping right beside where his head once lay.

The sky has taken on a purplish hue, rendering the surrounding trees to look like inky silhouettes. The sun hasn’t even fully risen yet. Greed blinks and clears his throat.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he croaks.

Bradley flashes by in a blur, assaulting Greed with another kick of sand. This time, he swallows some. He keels over and starts retching.

“I’ve put on some weight,” Bradley explains. To Greed’s fury, his voice doesn’t so much as hitch while he runs. “So I’ve decided to rectify this.”

 

* * *

 

**Confessional: Greed**

“He  _gained weight_?” Greed growls, trembling from the disbelief. “Last night, I ate a spider for dinner and he’s so well fed and relaxed that he’s putting  _on_  pounds?”

* * *

 

The commotion of Bradley’s exercise routine rouses the castaways in the vicinity. Lan Fan somersaults awake, defensively holding a sharpened stick in her one hand.

“What is happening?” she asks, fully alert. She instinctively shields Greed with her body. “Is the Young Lord in danger?”

Ed rolls over with a long groan. He pushes himself up on his elbows, thickly murmuring, “Whaaaa?”

“Oh, nothing,” Greed says. As rage boils in his chest, he adds. “Just certain people pissing all over the concept of  _consideration_!”

“I could say the same about you, Greed,” says Bradley, prior to diving into the sea. He reemerges, dripping and waterlogged, then tosses himself on the sand to roll around. When his clothes are sufficiently weighed down, he takes to sprinting up and down the shore. With implausible stability, he continues, “You’ve neglected my stapelias.”

Greed glances over at the African flowers. Their pot lies haphazardly on its side a little way from where he sits. The flowers and their soil spill onto the sand.

Soon, the weight of Ed’s body proves too much for his automail. With a shudder, the elbow cracks and Ed hits the sand on his face. A handful of nuts and bolts fly about.

“Damm _iiiiiiit_!” he crows. He furiously scrambles to his feet, his metal leg growing stiffer by the step, and stomps away--or rather, he hobbles. The fact that his arm still functions is proof of Winry’s fine craftsmanship. But he still knows this arm has seen better days.

Ed can hear Greed’s continued screaming as he disappears into the jungle. Well, he’s definitely wide awake now. Though, it’s still too dark to try and hunt for breakfast.

With a wince, he massages the muscles right above his metal plating. How he wishes Winry were still here. Surely she would have found a way to make this work.

In the distance, right where the jungle ends and a new beach begins, Ed thinks he sees the silhouette of a person. He narrows his eyes as he draws closer.

The figure turns and flashes Ed bright smile. He bounces up and down, waving his hand. Ed’s mouth falls open.

“Brother!” Heiderich exclaims.

Ed casts a cautionary glance over his shoulder and reverts his attention to his fake-brother. The kid is just about to explode from excitement. Ed even notes that his mouth kind of waters.

“Hey, Heiderich,” Ed says with some puzzlement.

Heiderich rushes over, catching Ed in a warm embrace. Ed catches a whiff of his hair. It smells like pine. When was the last time he smelled scented soap? He almost wants to melt from the euphoria.

Alfons releases him, keeping his hands on either of his shoulders. Ed smiles wanly, blinking away the sleep that lingers in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Ed asks.

The side of his mouth quirks up. “I thought we could watch the sunrise together, brother.”

Ed suppresses a groan of annoyance. Is this his punishment for breaking the rules? Is having to entertain Alfons Heiderich for the rest of his life a suitable penance?

He’s just about to bullshit his way out of this situation when Heiderich slips something warm onto Ed’s pocket.

Taken aback, Ed can only stare at his fake brother skeptically. Heiderich nods knowingly, his eyes deliberately pointing to Ed’s pocket.

Ed reaches inside and what he pulls out is a breakfast sandwich with fried egg, juicy steak, and melted cheddar cheese. A trickle of drool finds its way down Ed’s chin. He immediately wipes his mouth, staring at the sandwich with misty eyes. When was the last time he ate something so warm? So caloric?

“I stole it from the CBS breakfast buffet,” Heiderich explains, thrusting an ice cold bottle of Minute Maid orange juice into Ed’s free hand. He leans in close and whispers, “and there’ll be more where  _that_  came from. Don’t you worry, brother.”

 

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Do I need to be in more people’s debt?” Ed questions aloud. “And am I really willing to pretend to love Alfons Heiderich just so he can lavish me with gifts and nutrition?”

* * *

 

Ed stares at the sandwich. The English muffin is toasted to absolute  _perfection_. If he could marry this sandwich, he likely would.

Then he looks to Alfons Heiderich. There is such hope in his eyes. Barefaced, unmitigated trust and adoration. It’s a look more gentle, yet more powerful even than the one Ed gives Al.

Ed’s gaze switches between the sandwich and Heiderich. Finally, he breaks out into a cheesy grin and extends his arms.

“My brother,” says Ed.

 

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“You bet your ass I am,” says Ed.

* * *

 

Nearly a mile away, Havoc jolts awake, startling his allies. They spring up after him, looking around.

“Havoc, what happened?” Roy demands, his voice thick with sleep. Riza is in Hawk Mode, perched on her toes, carefully scanning their surroundings.

“I…” Havoc wrinkles his nose. “I smell...beef.”

Roy and Riza exchange a baffled look. Hawkeye relaxes her stance with a sigh. They return their attention to their subordinate, who is so aroused by this notion, he’s actually flushed.

“Havoc, we’re on an uncharted island,” Riza says slowly. “There is no beef.”

Jean lunges forward, grabbing Riza by the collar of her shirt. She gasps in alarm.

“Hey!” Roy croaks.

Havoc’s bloodshot eyes are wild and unfocused. He presses his nose to Riza’s and says, “I’m not crazy.”

“We’re malnourished,” Roy offers as an explanation, gently taking Havoc by the forearms and pulling him off of his first lieutenant. “And our minds are playing tricks on us. I can assure you--”

“I  _know_  what I smelled!” Havoc cries.

“I’m sure you do,” says Riza, using that soothing mother hawk voice she has reserved for the Elric brothers or Hayate on days she’s feeling particularly affectionate.

Havoc falls onto his side, curling his legs in. He hugs his knees and swallows. Riza pats his head gently.

* * *

 

Olivier doesn’t wake until way past noon. She languidly stretches on her back, reveling in the feel of sunlight on her skin. Her eyes flutter open and she sits up. The ocean water sparkles quite beautifully at this time of day, she notes. Being stationed in Briggs has deprived her of such simplicities. So today, she decides she doesn’t care that she’s on an island with people who irritate her. No, today is a good day.

 

* * *

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“Nothing can tarnish this feeling,” Olivier says pridefully. She stands with one foot atop a stump, her blue eyes glittering in the light. Her hair billows gracefully in the wind. “The other night was a victory. And I refuse to be held captive by my own displeasure after such a triumph.”

* * *

“Ally,” says Olivier. She lies by the shore with her hands behind her head. An ankle is crossed over her updrawn knee.

“What’s up, General?” Rebecca asks. She sits next to her, absently stacking seashells atop each other.

“I was thinking,” Olivier says, not opening her eyes. “It would be unwise to get confident after this. We’re still outnumbered by Mustang and it’s more than likely to be one of us or the homunculus next tribal council, provided that we don’t win immunity, of course.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Rebecca says. Olivier cracks an eye open. Rebecca leans back on her elbows, stretching her legs in front of her with a smirk. “Havoc voted with us. A little more gentle persuasion, and I’ll have him on our side in no time. Maybe even Riza too.”

Olivier curls up, sitting cross-legged. Thoughtfully, she looks toward the horizon.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Perhaps we  _could_  sway the numbers in our favor.” She chuckles. “I’m sure Lan Fan is  _itching_  for a way out of that alliance.”

“The only two swing votes right now are Greed and Bradley,” Rebecca points out.

“So long as we keep the homunculus happy, or at least unshaken, we needn’t consider him a problem,” Olivier says. “And as far as Hawkeye and Edward...well, if you can convince Havoc to vote for Mustang, that alliance will be finished. The two will either be forced to join us or we’ll pluck them off the island one by one. Then we’ll get rid of Lan Fan, Havoc,and Greed.” A grin spreads across Olivier’s face. “If this goes according to plan, ally, you and I can very feasibly make it to the end.”

“But only if Mustang doesn’t win immunity,” Rebecca says.

Olivier raises an eyebrow, then consciously averts her eyes to the Fuhrer who is currently swimming laps in his alligator moat. He moves so quickly, the waves lick up the moat’s walls and spill onto the beach.

“Point taken,” Rebecca sighs.

* * *

 

##  **// IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //**

“Come on in, guys!” Jeff Probst calls from his position on the challenge course.

The tribe files in, Bradley at its tail with the immunity necklace around his neck. Greed holds his immunity seashell in his clenched fist.

Jeff Probst directs a forced smile toward Bradley, not letting on the fact that his website traffic decreased by another ten percent since the last tribal council. “Bradley, Greed, I will be taking immunity back.”

Bradley pulls the necklace off and tosses it. Jeff Probst flinches and ducks for cover as the necklace flies over his head. He cautiously opens one eye and then goes to retrieve it.

Greed slips his seashell into his pocket and says, “Yeah, I lost my shell.”

“You just put it in your pocket,” Ed says.

“That’s a lie,” Greed replies.

“I literally just saw you,” says Ed. “You--”

“So, are you guys ready to get to today’s challenge?” Jeff Probst asks, and Greed sighs with relief, never having been so happy to hear Jeff Probst’s voice.

“I suppose,” mumbles Lan Fan, shooting Bradley an unhappy look. Just once, she’d like someone else on the tribe to have a shot. What’s the point of even trying as long as he’s the person they need to beat? This is the same man who survived a train explosion, sliced a bullet with his sword while it was flying toward him, and took out a tank all on his own.

Sure, Lan Fan cut off her own arm and bested him as a result. But even so, how are they supposed to compete with all that?

Jeff Probst walks toward the first station. A row of tables stands before him. Sliding-tile puzzles lay on their surfaces. Thick tangles of ropes connect each tile to the individual wooden canopies they are fastened to above.

“For today’s challenge,” says Jeff Probst, setting a hand on one of the tables, “You’re going to move these tiles to untangle the ropes. When you do, a key will be released from its knots and fall within your reach. You will then unlock this chest.” He nudges one of the wooden chests stationed at the foot of every table. “Inside, there are ladder footholds. You will fit them to a wooden frame.” He points to several parallel beams that lead up to a wooden walkway, lined with additional tables. “You’ll climb to the top where there will be a puzzle waiting for you. First one to solve the puzzle wins immunity.”

“So many puzzles,” Riza mumbles. “Not a lot of room for physical endurance.”

“It had to be on purpose,” Roy whispers to her. “He wants to do whatever he can to ensure Bradley’s loss.”

“What makes you say that?” Havoc asks.

Roy snorts. He points to a table to the far left. “There’s a block of cement where the chest should be. I wonder whose station  _that_  is.”

“Well, thank god,” says Havoc. “It’d be nice to win immunity for a change.”

Roy scowls. “Excuse me, and what makes you think  _you’re_  going to win?”

“Puzzles,” Ed murmurs, licking his lips. Finally, his moment to shine. He’s already proven himself to be the best puzzle-solver on the island. Jeff Probst may as well have tossed immunity at his feet!

“We’ll draw for spots and get started!” says Jeff Probst with a knowing smile.

___

As predicted, Bradley is stationed behind the cement-chest table. And his ropes are tied in far more elaborate knots than the rest. However, he doesn’t do so much as blink. Which makes Jeff Probst sweat.

He gulps and stutters, “S-survivors ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” says Rebecca, glancing up at her tangle of knots. Beside her, Havoc makes a heart with his hands.

 _Love you_ , he mouths.

Rebecca looks away.

“Go!” Jeff Probst exclaims. On cue, Heiderich runs onto the challenge course with an ice cold beer and a sub. He holds them toward Jeff Probst and pants, “I’m sorry for being late! The deli was packed, and--”

“Are there pickles in this?” Jeff Probst asks, snatching the food and drink from his hands.

Heiderich looks down. “Jeff Probst, you didn’t ask for any--”

“God dammit, Heiderich! You had  _one job_!”

Ed looks over and cannot help but feel a pang of jealousy. Why didn’t Heiderich bring  _him_  a sub from the deli? After all, it’s been a few hours since his breakfast sandwich.

He shakes his head, chiding himself. Now is not the time for that. He has a puzzle to solve. He starts shoving tiles around in an attempt to untangle the ropes.

“Roy off to a good start!” Jeff Probst says, beer dribbling down his chin. Heiderich reaches over to wipe his mouth with his own sweater sleeve.

Ed curses, casting a glance over at Mustang’s table. Dammit, Ed forgot he was an expert strategist too. The bastard.

“Bradley having a bit of trouble, I see,” says Jeff Probst. Surely enough, Bradley’s ropes jerk with his abrupt tile movements, unable to escape their knots. Greed howls with laughter, though, he barely makes any progress with his own knots.

“Riza falling behind! Lan Fan falling behind!” Jeff Probst announces.

Lan Fan scowls, raising her one arm in perplexity.

“I  _apologize_  for my inefficiency!” she spits, her voice dense with sarcasm.

Meanwhile, Riza curses as her own ropes tangle even worse with each tile movement. Under her breath, she mumbles, “Ask me to hit a target, sure. Ask me to solve a goddamn puzzle?”

“Roy onto the next round!” Jeff Probst calls out as Roy unfastens his key and drops beside the wooden chest. “Ed right behind him!”

Ed yanks his key free and goes to unlock his chest.  

“Olivier in this,” Jeff Probst says as the General makes progress with her knots. She smirks, watching the key fall closer and closer toward her reach.

“Greed…” Jeff Probst pauses, watching the homunculus stand with his hands on his hips. A huge smile breaks across his face. He stares at Bradley’s failure with fulfillment.

“Enough fooling around,” Bradley murmurs. He yanks the ropes and their knots instantly break loose. The key skitters across the table and he swipes it off.

Jeff Probst’s mouth falls open. Heiderich reaches up to close it.

“Wait,” says Greed. His face goes red in shock and anger. “WAIT!”

Without a word, Bradley grabs the cement block and rips it in half with his bare hands, revealing a wooden chest identical to the rest.

Jeff Probst shakes his head and stammers, “Bradley...back in this.”

“No!” Greed screams and slams his hands on his puzzle board. He activates his ultimate shield and slices through the ropes to get his key.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Havoc calls out, his own key slipping a little closer to his table.

“No, it’s not!” Jeff Probst exclaims hastily. “G-go, Greed! Greed making good time!”

Greed slams his shielded heel against the chest and cracks it open. But Bradley is already halfway up his ladder, quickly adding more pieces.

“Oh,  _hell no_ ,” Ed growls, stacking his own pieces with fervor. He’s just behind Roy who has an advantage solely by having longer arms and legs.

“Olivier with her key!” Jeff Probst yells as the General unlocks her box. With a war cry, she starts to assemble her ladder, passing Roy and Ed with ease.

Bradley is almost to the top of his ladder when Greed yells, “OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

The homunculus tosses himself straight through the ladder’s rungs, breaking several of its pieces in half. They strike the ground in a series of hard clatters.

“Jeff Probst!” Greed screams, scrambling to his feet. “Wrath’s ladder is unfinished!”

“Bradley!” Jeff Probst yells. “Back to the bottom! Fix your broken ladder!”

Without missing a beat, Bradley backflips off the top rung and starts to reassemble his splinted pieces of wood. Then Greed tackles him to the ground.

“This challenge is getting phy-si-cal!” Jeff Probst proclaims with a laugh.

At that moment, Havoc finishes his puzzle and has just unlocked the chest. He rushes to assemble the ladder.

“Havoc back in this!” Jeff Probst announces. Bradley and Greed grapple on the floor. Jeff Probst takes a careful step over them.

“Olivier on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst says as she empties her bag of puzzle pieces onto the table. Roy stumbles over himself, falling against the table. He fumbles with his bag of puzzle pieces.

“Roy still in this!” Jeff Probst yells. “Ed right behind!” Ed finds his table with a heavy breath and gets to work.

Havoc is just about to get to the top when Riza retrieves her key. She unlocks the chest.

“Riza catching up! But can she make it?” Jeff Probst asks as she hastily builds her ladder. He looks over at Rebecca and Lan Fan with a  _tsk_.

“Lan Fan and Reina out of this,” he says, shaking his head.

“You couldn’t even do this with  _two arms_!” Lan Fan screams, shoving her tile to the side.

Rebecca begins to fume. She grips the board’s edge and her shoulders start quaking.

“My name,” she growls, reaching up and finding purchase on her ropes, “is  _REBECCA_.” She rearranges the tiles wildly, but after a few seconds, realizes her motions are arbitrary and she really isn’t getting anywhere.

Bummer. That would have been such a badass way to show everyone up.

Greed and Bradley continue to wrestle on the ground. The Fuhrer tosses the homunculus overhead. His body flies toward Rebecca’s table. With a scream, she dives away just as he slams into the table and its pieces explode, raining over the challenge course.

“You son of a  _bitch_!” Greed crows, yanking a piece of wood out from between his eyes. Red sparks crackle and pop as the wound heals. He jumps to his feet and grabs a chunk of cement off the ground. He lobs it at Bradley, but he deflects it with his forearm, then starts to rebuild his ladder with immeasurable speed.

Greed does the only thing he can think of. He jumps on Bradley’s back.

“You pest!” Bradley hisses, jerking back to shake him off, but Greed does not budge. He digs his sharpened shield claws into Bradley’s back, drawing blood. But the Fuhrer does not even wince.

“Riza on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst says, prudently looking away. She empties her bag of puzzle pieces and begins. The host grins. “Ed, Roy, Olivier, Havoc, and Riza. Who will be the next to win immunity?”

“Almost, almost,” Ed mumbles to himself as he slides the second to last piece into place. Olivier and Roy are cutting close behind, but not nearly close enough.

Ed has this. HE HAS IT! HE--

“This is so damn hard!” Havoc yells, kicking the table. However, the motion propels the puzzle pieces to shift and miraculously fall into place. Stunned, Havoc looks down.

Roy drops his pieces on the table. Ed freezes completely. Everyone occupying the challenge course descends into stunned silence, including Bradley and Greed who stay perfectly still on Bradley’s ladder.

Jeff Probst is the first to make a sound. He clears his throat, and like ice finally beginning to melt, the group falls back into movement. Greed releases Bradley and hits the ground on his back. Rebecca clambers up, brushing the dirt off her knees. Her eyes fixate on her kind-of boyfriend who flattens his hands against his completed puzzle.

“Jean Havoc,” says Jeff Probst, finding his voice. “You...win immunity.”

“I do?” Havoc runs a hand over the Survivor logo puzzle he has just inexplicably assembled.  

Still on his back, Greed runs his hands over his face with a laugh. Bradley stares acidly at Havoc, narrowing his one exposed eye in a glower.

Jeff Probst climbs Havoc’s ladder and joins him atop the walkway, bestowing the idol upon him. He claps Havoc’s shoulder.

“Havoc, you and  _only you_  are safe from tonight’s vote,” says Jeff Probst. “You have a one in nine shot of winning this game.”

“I cannot believe this,” Roy says.

Ed slams his fist against his puzzle, causing pieces to spring off. “ _So close_.”

Havoc looks up meaningfully. Tears spring to his eyes. Golly, he hadn’t meant to get emotional, but he can’t help it.

Him, Jean Havoc, country bumpkin and second lieutenant, was the one to beat the Fuhrer.

“Our horse,” Havoc whispers. “Thomas.”

“What?” Riza asks.

“Nothing,” says Havoc, straightening up with a sniff. His eyes find Riza. She’ll look great as Rianna’s maid of honor. Maybe she’ll even be a godmother to their kids.

“Tribal council tonight,” says Jeff Probst, “where one of you will be voted out. I’ll see you then.”

 

* * *

 

##  **// MERGED CAMP //**

The castaways return to find all of their belongings scattered and overturned across the beach. This is a result of the enormous helicopter that hovers over the dead center of their campsite, its propellor creating a spiral of wind that tosses everyone’s hair and clothes as they approach it.

“What the hell is this!?” Greed yells in an outrage, but his voice is barely audible over the chopping propellor.

“I’m leaving,” says Bradley, stepping past his stunned tribemates. He looks up. A rope ladder is ejected from the helicopter’s open door. He grabs the lowest rung with one hand and rises from the ground.

“You can’t just  _leave_!” Greed screams. “What, you’re going to quit like a pissbaby just because you lost?”

“I’ve had enough of this game,” says Bradley as the helicopter carries him away. “You’re all beneath me.”

“Get back here and face your elimination like a soldier!” Olivier shouts, stomping her foot.

“Wrath! You’d better not go!” Greed screeches. He wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of watching Jeff Probst snuff his torch. And now...now he’s just going to  _leave_?

“Why is everyone freaking out about this?” Roy yells over the chopping. “His departure  _increases_  our chances of winning!”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Riza sighs. “Especially for whoever is left of Yellow. We’ve wanted to vote him off from the very beginning.” She crosses her arms. “And to be honest, I’m still not happy with how Izumi Curtis was blindsided. If it’s up to me, I say good riddance to him either way.”

“WHAT?” Roy yells.

“Nevermind,” Riza mutters.

Bradley disappears into the clouds, the deafening chopping dissolving into silence as it draws farther away.

Greed lets loose a bloodcurdling scream. Olivier kicks a pile of sand. Havoc touches the seashell that rests against his shirtfront like it’s something very precious.

Ed clears his throat. Meekly, he offers, “Eighth person voted off of  _Survivor: Not Amestris_  and the third member of our jury?”

“Is he even coming  _back_  for the jury?” Rebecca asks.

“Whatever,” Roy says. “We’d have voted him off anyway.” Roy snaps his fingers ironically and Ed covers Roy’s fake flame with his automail hand.

“Fuhrer Bradley,” Ed says. “The tribe has spoken.”

Olivier walks away, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She sneers, “That was so embarrassing. Never do that again.”

“Honestly, sir,” says Riza with a cringe.

Everyone murmurs in agreement, leaving Roy on his own. He looks down sadly, thinking,  _But I’m the flame alchemist. That was hilarious._

Then it occurs to him that with Fuhrer Bradley gone, they now have to prepare themselves for an  _actual_  elimination! Which means...he needs to start scheming.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“I still haven’t forgotten about last tribal council,” Roy says. “One of my allies betrayed me and voted alongside Armstrong.” He laces his fingers. “Lan Fan would be my first guess, but then, is she really in any position to be taking risks? Especially after I promised her demise should she overstep herself.” He chuckles. “Then there’s Fullmetal who is still resentful that we blindsided Winry. It could be his way of trying to dismantle our alliance from within.

Roy leans back against the confessional tree. “Hawkeye was acting undoubtedly strange last tribal council. And she has barely been able to look me in the eye since. There’s something she’s hiding from me. But would my most loyal subordinate really stoop so low? And then, of course, there’s Havoc.” Roy outright laughs at this scenario. “But, come on. What are the odds?  _Havoc_? Sure, he’s getting cozy with Catalina. But his allegiance is with me. I know that the way I know the exact shade of brown Hawkeye’s eyes are…” Roy swallows and looks down.

He waves his hand. “ _Anyway_ , the question is...who? Rest assured, I will find out.” He grins. “And I will end them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you to trust me in regards to Bradley. Real talk, I initially planned to eliminate him pre-merge. But then my brother said, “Are you CRAZY?” And I agreed. I had way too much fun writing Bradley’s ridiculous opulence. But he was starting to overstay his welcome. 
> 
> So Havoc accidentally won immunity. Olivier wants to shift the power to herself. Havoc betrayed Roy and the Colonel doesn’t suspect a thing. Greed will never get the satisfaction of watching Bradley get his torch snuffed. Heiderich is there for Ed and Ed is in Riza’s debt, much to Roy’s ignorance and suspicion. 
> 
> As always, thank you guys for being cool with me picking on these babies. I can sincerely say I love every remaining player with all my heart. Thank you guys for reading this silliness!! I hope this made you smile some!
> 
> Also, a special thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! The comments always make me laugh and smile. I'm so happy you guys are into this <3


	13. Episode 7 (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't figure out the new rich text editor and so I apologize for the lack of proper page breaks D:

“Colonel, we can’t trust Havoc.”

From a distance, Riza watches him saunter up and down the shore, collecting seashells for some kind of gift to Rebecca. Or at least that’s what she gathers from his need to kiss each individual shell before he slips it into his pocket.

“Lieutenant, Havoc is my _knight_ ,” Roy says with certainty.

He sets a coconut atop a rock and begins to beat it with a stick. It rolls right off. He sighs and reaches to try again, but Riza snatches the coconut from his hands and hurls it with full force against the rock. It splits open.

Roy isn’t sure if he feels demeaned or aroused.

“With all due respect, sir,” she says, “There are two things in this world Havoc will do anything for.”

“Yeah,” Roy agrees, picking a coconut half off the ground. He dips his tongue into its water like a kitten. “Me and food.”

“ _Boobs_ and food,” Riza corrects.  

Roy chokes on his coconut water. Vexed, he glares at her. “Excuse me?”

“If you think Havoc won’t vote against us for Rebecca, think again,” says Riza. “We’ve lost him to her and now that he has immunity, that’s dangerous.”

Roy pauses to consider this. He glances over at Havoc, watching him hold a seashell to his heart with a dopey smile.

“Look,” he says, turning back to his lieutenant. “I know why you’re worried. With eight players left, it’s really anyone’s game. But I can assure you that Havoc is loyal to me. The three of us will make it to the end.”

“Who’s ‘the three of us’?”

Mustang jumps at the third voice. He and his adjutant turn to see Edward Elric making his way toward their area.

Coolly, Roy asks, “Fullmetal, weren’t on you on a firewood run?”

“Yeah, I was.” Ed jerks his thumb over his shoulder where twigs and tree scraps are piled haphazardly on the ground. He steps closer, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t divert the question, Colonel.”

“Edward,” says Riza with assertion. “Didn’t you say you were going to weave us a new tarp.”

Ed cocks a brow. “No.”

“I see,” says Riza. She nods, then turns to the Colonel. “Sir, there’s something I haven’t quite told you about your shirt--”

“N-no way I’d forget about that tarp is what I meant!” Ed yelps. Riza lets out a measured breath as the boy squirms beneath her newfound power over him.

“What about my shirt?” Roy asks. He looks down, gripping the hem with his thumb and forefinger.

“That it makes you look fat,” says Ed flatly. “And the lieutenant agrees.”

Roy frowns. “Should I take it off?”

“No!” Riza immediately cries. The memory of his welted up chest returns to her, and she stifles the nausea that resultantly stirs her stomach.

The three of them fall silent, Roy offended once again. Finally, Ed whistles and announces, “I guess I’m off to weave a tarp.”

When he’s gone, Riza says, “Think this over. Don’t be dense. Rebecca will use Havoc to play you like a fool.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Roy says with an eyeroll. “They’re minor characters. Plus, we’re the power couple. Good luck beating us.”

“We’re not a couple, sir.”

“I mean, come on. _Havoc,_ a rebel?” Roy sputters a laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“It’s happening right in front of you.”

“Not my knight,” Roy affirms.

“Literally, like, ten feet away, Colonel.”

__

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“The lieutenant is worried,” Roy says. “And maybe I understand it for a second. It’s coming down to the wire and everyone wants to win that money.” He smirks. “But my team will always be my team. They won’t betray me.”

___

Riza takes her coconut half and leaves Roy alone. He stares out, training his eyes on Havoc who sits cross-legged by the shore, stringing his new seashells onto a piece of seaweed as he hums the melody of Yui’s ‘Again.’

When he gets to the fast rap portion, he falters and a handful of shells flies out of his grasp. He looks around nervously, hoping nobody noticed.

But Roy noticed. He definitely noticed.

___

“We’re not getting a vote out of Hawkeye,” Olivier says to Rebecca that evening. “But she’s one person. I’ll deal with Lan Fan, who will surely deal with the homunculus. You just need to make sure we have Havoc. Then Edward can be our last resort swing vote.”

__

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“We’ve been on this island for seventeen days,” says Olivier. She tilts her head back and shuts her eyes. “That is _seventeen days_ I have waited for Roy Mustang’s demise. And finally, tonight, all of my patience will be realized.”

___

“Who do you think Mustang is gunning for?” Rebecca asks worriedly. “I mean, it’s obviously going to be one of us or Greed. Everyone else is on his side.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Olivier says with surety. “He has allies because he has power. But the moment that power shifts to us, they’d be fools not to jump ship.” She chuckles. “Worry not, ally. Tonight will be a victory for us.”

__

**Confessional: Rebecca Catalina**

“General Armstrong sure is confident about tonight’s vote.” Rebecca uncertainly twiddles her thumbs. “I just think she’s seriously underestimating Mustang. There’s a reason he’s still here, even though everyone on the island hates his guts. He’s acts like an idiot, but he’s far from it. And I am not sure our plan won’t backfire.”

___

After she films her confessional, a pair of hands slips over Rebecca’s eyes. She sighs deeply.

“Guess who?” Havoc asks playfully.

What Rebecca _wants_ to say is that his BO has grown so rancid she could smell him from across the beach.

What she actually does is giggle, sliding her hands over his forearms. “Ooh, I dunno. Could it be...Jean?”

He presses a jubilant kiss to her cheek, then ties something around her neck. She looks down, placing a hand atop its harsh ridges.

“A seashell necklace?” she questions. When she meets his eyes, she notes that his are kind of watering.

“I made it,” he admits, sheepishly burying his toes into the sand. “Because you remind me of every beautiful seashell on this island.”

Rebecca runs the pad of her finger over the shells, then winces as a sharp edge cuts her. She starts to bleed.

“Half these shells are broken,” she says.

“So is my heart when you’re not near,” says Havoc.

“Okay.” Rebecca lets the necklace fall against her chest. She turns to face him completely. “Look, Jean. I was going to come and talk to you about tonight’s elimination.”

Havoc deflates, then scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. I haven’t heard anything from the boss yet, but I have a feeling he’s going for Armstrong again.”

“He still doesn’t know you voted with us the other night?” she asks with a skeptical gaze.

Havoc shakes his head. “Not a clue. He probably thinks it was Lan Fan or the Chief. Hawkeye and I are his men. He even gave us metaphorical chess names. I think he’s under the impression that the three of us will be the last standing.”

“Hmm.” Rebecca takes a seat upon a large rock and Havoc follows on the ground before her. She crosses a leg over her knee. “Final three. Well, as far as I know, the jury votes between the final _two_. Which means Mustang has no intention of letting you win.”

Havoc rakes his fringe away from his forehead. “Dammit,” he says. “But what about immunity?”

“There _is_ immunity,” Rebecca says ponderously. “But then again, you’re up against the Hawk’s Eye and Flame Alchemist there. If it’s an aim challenge, you’re screwed. If it’s a strategy challenge, you’re screwed. They’ve got you beat, Jean.”

Havoc groans. “You’re totally right, Roxy.”

“Rebecca.”

“There’s no _way_ the colonel is taking me to the end. Not over Hawkeye.” He looks at her with desperation. “So...one thing left to do then.”

Rebecca grins. “Now you’re getting it.”

“We have to get rid of Hawkeye.” Havoc jumps to his feet. “Yes, yes. This is good. I’ve been saying it from the very beginning! She’s--”

“What?” Rebecca furrows her eyebrows, shaking her head. “Jean, no! We’re not voting for Riza. We’re voting for Mustang.”

Havoc stops in his tracks and stares at her, agape. Rebecca nods slowly. She rises to her feet and sets her hands on either of his shoulders.

“The Colonel,” she says, looking into his eyes. “He’s our man tonight.”

Havoc doesn’t know what to say. One thing is cutting Mustang off and leaving him powerless. But _that_ kind of betrayal?

__

**Confessional: Jean Havoc**

“I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for the Colonel,” says Jean with his head bowed. “When Solaris the Homunculus stabbed me through the back, Mustang was the one who made sure I didn’t bleed out. He may be a dick player, but he’s a good superior. I can’t imagine writing his name down. Never in a million years.”

___

“Raeanne,” Havoc begins.

“ _Rebecca_.”

“I can’t,” he admits. His eyes cloud with remorse. “I’m sorry, I just--”

Stretching up on her toes, Rebecca grabs him by the bandana around his neck and kisses him deeply, sliding her fingers through his hair. Havoc responds with romance-novel enthusiasm, pulling her flush against him, reveling in the feel of her boobs pressed to his chest.

They part with a heavy breath. Havoc is seeing stars. He nearly faints over her, but her steady eyes keep him on his feet.

“Look at me,” she says, sliding a thumb over his jaw. And who is he to deny Rosalina Catalina? Of course he obliges, getting lost in those dark brown eyes. She licks her lips. “You and me will make it to the end. After the reunion episode, we’ll run away together, so it won’t matter which of us wins.”

“To the countryside?” Havoc whispers in awe.

Rebecca grimaces. “Uh...sure.”

“With a horse?”

“Fine. Yeah. Whatever.”

Havoc lets Rebecca go and stares into the sun. “Thomas.”

__

**Confessional: Jean Havoc**

“By the same merit,” Havoc says meekly, “there’s more to life than fame and fortune. Surely, the colonel will understand.”

___

 

Elsewhere, Ed is fiddling with his bandana by stretching it out. Lan Fan watches puzzledly.

“It’s not even a bandana,” says Ed. “It’s a buff.”

“I know your loyalty to Colonel Mustang only runs so deep,” Lan Fan says without preamble. She sits in front of him, snatching the _buff_ from his hand.

“What are you suggesting?” Ed asks, reaching out to retrieve it. Unfortunately for him, he chose to do this with his automail hand. The middle finger falls clean off. Ed curses loudly.

“I spoke with the General just a moment ago,” Lan Fan says fiercely. “She wants him gone. She’s wanted him gone since the very beginning. If we join her side, the Colonel will be outnumbered.”

Ed’s eyebrows knit. “I thought you felt safe under Mustang’s protection.”

“I feel safe under whoever has the most power,” Lan Fan replies. “A week ago, that was Mustang. Today, perhaps it isn’t.”

__

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“Don’t get me wrong, Edward Elric is still a vile little runt,” Lan Fan says. “I cannot forgive him for his blatant act of sabotage. But for now, he’s a potential ally. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

___

“Maybe voting the Colonel out is kind of a hasty decision,” says Ed. In as much as he’d love his cocky ass to get snuffed off the island, Hawkeye’s angry face flashes in his mind. If her closest ally were blindsided, she’d be unhappy. And an unhappy Hawkeye might just say things she isn’t supposed to.

“Excuse me?” Lan Fan demands.

“Well, look at us,” says Ed. The words leave him while this idea continues to form. “You hate Mustang, the General’s ally hates Mustang. Havoc will do whatever she says. And Greed is on whichever side’s outcome will work in his favor. We can vote Mustang out at any time. The one we _should_ be worried about is General Armstrong. Nobody on the jury resents her. If she makes it to the end, she’ll win for sure. And we have, what, six tribal councils left?” Ed crosses his arms and matter-of-factly states, “We just can’t risk that.”

Lan Fan’s eyes narrow. She leans forward and asks, “What are you hiding?”

Ed gulps, hastily scrambling back. With a nervous laugh, he asks, “What makes you think I’m--”

“Lan Fan, Fullmetal.”

The two look up where Mustang looms, hands on his hips. Ed straightens up, smiling brightly and patting the spot next to him as an invitation to join. Mustang raises a curious eyebrow but sits nevertheless.

Waving off his suspicion, he says, “I came to talk about our vote tonight. Hawkeye is informing Havoc as we speak.”

__

“Why?” Havoc asks when Riza drops the news. She starts back to camp, but he grabs her by the wrist before she can take another stop.

Riza looks back. “Why?” She turns around. “Because she was our target last week and we missed. _And_ she’s a physical threat. You saw how close she was to winning today.”

Havoc looks down, Renee’s kiss still tingling on his lips. He can’t vote for Olivier Armstrong. Not after that. His future wife would never forgive him if he chopped her closest ally this early in the game. Without her, she’d be at a huge disadvantage.

But if Hawkeye knew that...she’d tell Mustang. And until he’s eliminated, pissing him off is just too risky. Havoc will have to wait at least until tomorrow to overtly jump ship.

He touches the immunity necklace around his neck and nods.

“You’re right, Hawkeye,” he says. “We’ll vote out the General. Then Rolanda. And you, me, and the Colonel will be the last three standing.”

___

**Confessional: Jean Havoc**

“Everyone on this island underestimates me,” he says. “Everyone except for Rakisha. And that’s why I’m protecting her. No matter what.”

___

Havoc pulls Rebecca away from Olivier right after Riza rejoins Mustang, Ed, and Lan Fan.

“What is it, Jean?” she asks. Gosh, she’s pretty. The prettiest girl Havoc’s ever seen.

“The General is on the chopping block tonight,” Havoc says in a low whisper. He flashes her a grin. “But don’t you worry, baby. I have a plan.”

___

At dawn, Lan Fan finds Greed treading the edge of the Fuhrer’s moat with a long spear in hand.

“Uh…” she begins.

Greed momentarily tears his glowering eyes away from the estate to address Lan Fan. “Oh, good, you’re here.” He walks over and thrusts the spear into her hand. She looks down at it uncertainly.

“Where did you get this?” she asks.  

“Here’s the plan,” he says. “I’m going to swim across the moat and break into the palace. If the alligators attack, you’ll skewer them.”

“Is this where you’ve been all chapter?”

“I have my ultimate shield,” he goes on. “But, they could always swallow me whole.”

“Homunculus,” Lan Fan says. “There’s an elimination in just a few minutes. Have you thought about who you’re voting for _at all_?”

Greed bends down and starts rolling up his pants. In the motion, he looks toward the entrance double doors with determination.

“LAN FAN! GREED!” Edward screams from across the beach. “WE’RE LEAVING FOR TRIBAL COUNCIL!”

“Thank god,” Lan Fan says, grabbing Greed by the scruff of his collar. She drags him away, much to his distaste.

“You win _this time_ , Wrath,” he growls. “But after Tribal Council, we’re finishing this.”

__

 

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

Jeff Probst lounges across the jury bench, moaning while Alfons Heiderich massages his hand.

“I don’t know why I didn’t have you do this several episodes ago,” he says. “Because it’s not only pulling out the votes, Heiderich. It’s _unfolding_ them too. And what people don’t see on screen is me having to unfold and then refold before placing them back inside the pot so the vote order is suspenseful.” Jeff Probst closes his eyes. A sigh of pleasure escapes his lips.

Roy clears his throat loudly.

Jeff Probst cracks one eye open and growls in his direction.

“Excuse me, we have a tribal council to get to!” Ed shrieks, shaking his automail fist in the air. Another finger falls off and bounces against the floor with a _tink_. He looks at his mangled metal hand, only a thumb and ring finger left, and takes a deep breath

Olivier dips her torch into the fire and the other follow suit. They situate in their respective seats. Jeff Probst sits up with an irked grumble and makes his way to the podium.

“I’ll now bring in the members of our jury,” he says. And in file the embittered eliminees. At the head is Winry, who flashes Ed a smile. He looks down sheepishly, which prompts Heiderich to raise his eyebrows. He look at Ed, pointing a curious finger in Winry’s direction. Then he grins and shoots Ed a thumbs-up.

Armstrong looks, well, pretty much just as fabulous as he has this entire fic. His hair loopy is freshly coiffed and he wears a dress shirt and pants.

“Winry,” Jeff Probst announces as they take their spots. “Armstrong, and…” he confoundedly trails off when a stout old man in a suit sits in the Fuhrer’s place. Strange man adjusts the spectacles that slide down the bridge of his nose, then pulls a boxy apparatus out from a leather briefcase.

“Uh…” Jeff Probst scratches his head. “Who are you?”

The man’s eyes snap up. He sets the weird machine on his lap and says, “Oh, I’m Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber.”

Greed holds out a hand and stammers, “I-I’m sorry. His _what_ , now?”

“I’m to record everything that is said throughout the duration of this tribal council,” Transcriber explains. “Then, when it is time to vote for the winner, the Fuhrer will examine these documents and decide whether or not he’d like to cast a jury vote.”

Greed takes a quivering breath. Lan Fan sets her hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“Homunculus,” Lan Fan whispers. “Count to ten.”

Jeff Probst can only stare in consternation. Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber sets his fingers on the keys of his machine and looks at the others expectantly.

“Well,” Jeff Probst finally says. “I guess--”

He’s cut off by the cacophonously loud tapping noise the transcribing machine’s keys produce. Jeff Probst’s venomous eyes pierce Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber. The man lifts his gaze.

“One,” Greed whispers, gripping Lan Fan’s hand so tightly it turns purple. She lets out a gasp. “Two.”

“Okay.” Jeff Probst shakes his head. “That machine is way too lou--”

He continues to type, and a sheet of paper rises from the top as the transcription lengthens.

“Oh dear,” says Heiderich. He looks up. “Jeff Probst, what should we--”

“I will not have this racket tarnishing the sacred time that is tribal council!” Jeff Probst exclaims. He stomps over to the jury bench and snatches the machine from the man’s hands. He screeches in response.

“No!” Jeff Probst says. “This is the most screen time I get all episode! We have a full camera crew. There is no need for a transcriber!”

“I wouldn’t say ‘full’,” says Archer, still filming with a Motorola flip phone.  

“Also, 03!Wrath wasn’t getting enough attention as a gaffer, so he quit,” Chimera!Tucker whispers.

“After all I did for him, too,” Jeff Probst mutters.

“We’re underpaid and abused,” says Archer. “We only do this because Brotherhood shoved us all into obscurity and we have nowhere else to go.”

Jeff Probst gasps. He turns to his assistant. “Heiderich. Do _you_ feel this way too?”

“Can we just get on with the tribal council!” Havoc moans. “I am so sick of all this pointless exposition!”

The transcriber holds out his hands and moans. A long stretch of time passes before Jeff Probst relents and shoves the transcribing machine back into the man’s outstretched arms.

“Okay,” says Jeff Probst, flinching as a series of loud taps follow. He takes a deep breath and continues, “So we lost Bradley after the immunity challenge and are down to the final eight. How is that feeling?”

“Tense,” Lan Fan replies.

Everyone looks that way. Roy studies his ally with special attentiveness. Any of his people having free reign to speak is problematic. This close to the end, alliances are fragile. He isn’t deluded. Not after one of his own betrayed him last tribal council.

“Why would you say that?” Jeff Probst asks.  

“Yes, Lan Fan,” says Roy intently. “Why?”

She ignores the withering look he gives her and says, “Everyone wishes to stay in this and we’re willing to do whatever it takes to achieve our goals. We are no longer at a point where we can simply vote off whoever we don’t like. Every time we write somebody’s name, it is nothing more than a strategic move to further ourselves one more round.”

Havoc casts his eyes downward, lacing his fingers together. Roy keeps his eyes on Lan Fan for a several seconds longer than necessary before speaking up himself.

“I think,” says Roy, “that even though it’s anybody’s game, we’re still able to protect each other if need be. Some of us _have_ the numbers for that.” He shrugs, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile. “Now, if someone were to skip to a side with _dwindling_ numbers, that might not be the case.”

“So, you’re saying there’s a clear distinction between one alliance and another. I guess you could say...you’ve really had to outwit to outlast,” Jeff Probst says, chuckling so that the people watching see that this is amusing. He looks over his shoulder at Heiderich whose expression is void of emotion. Jeff Probst clears his throat and the boy erupts into nervous laughter.

“That was funny, Jeff Probst,” he says.

“Stop speaking cryptically!” Olivier snaps. “It’s more than clear where alliances have formed. The issue isn’t which groups have numbers, but rather _why_. Power is illusory. The moment you lose your followers, you’re reduced to nothing. Furthermore, it isn’t _difficult_ to gain the quantitative upperhand in a game like this.”

“You speak confidently for someone on the sinking end of this ship,” says Roy, grinning like a charming idiot.

“And you speak confidently for someone hated by majority of this island,” says Olivier. She jerks her head in the direction of the jury. “You and your dogs blindsided Winry Rockbell. And I don’t believe for one second anyone on your side stays with you out of unwavering trust and respect. If you make it to the top, it’ll be because you snaked your way up up there. And cunning doesn’t garner jury votes.”

“And what makes you think I’ll need to use cunning?” Roy asks.

Olivier barks a laugh. “I don’t suppose you’re going to bring Lan Fan, Havoc, Edward, _and_ Hawkeye to the end. The jury votes between two players. You’ll have to betray the majority of your allies just to make it that far. It doesn’t matter who you take to the end. You’re the snake that will leave a bitter taste in their mouth. Not Hawkeye who followed you. Not Edward who played along. Not Lan Fan who has maneuvered to save her own neck. And certainly not Havoc.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Or am I wrong?”

“You act like I’m the only one who’s pissed off the jury,” Roy says. “As far as I know, the Major was your doing.”

“And whoever voted with her,” Riza mutters.

Jeff Probst staggers back, raising his palms. “Well, well. Riza, you seem to have an opinion regarding last week’s elimination.”

To no one in particular, Riza says, “I agree with Lan Fan. I don’t think anyone has any reason to be loyal. Not in a game like this. That much is obvious after what transpired last tribal council.” Roy looks up and they share a meaningful look. She directs her next statement to him. “You know it, sir. Someone on our side voted with the General. And I have strong reason to believe it wasn’t Edward.”

“And what makes you so sure?” Rebecca challenges. “You know he’s a strategist. I’ll bet he’s found loads of ways to cheat by now.”

“CHEAT!?” Ed shrieks, jumping in his seat. He starts to sweat--rather profusely. “I’ll have _you_ know, Captain, I have thus far played this game _fair and square_!”

“Not even my actual rank, but okay.”

“That’s right, you irrelevant vixen!” Heiderich calls out.

Jeff Probst whirls around to stare at him. The hut goes into silence. Or at least it would if Bradley’s transcriber weren’t still typing.

“I-I mean.” Heiderich clears his throat. “Jeff Probst, your shoulders look tense. Should I get the hot stones?”

Jeff Probst makes a face and turns around, however, acquiesces. “Fine, but make it quick.”

Heiderich makes himself scarce immediately. Ed sighs, burying his face into his hands. Riza turns away and shakes her head.

“Anyway…” she says slowly. “People don’t forge alliances out of loyalty or respect. Like the General said, they do so out of convenience. I think everyone on this island has something they want, and certain alliances present higher probabilities at attaining that.”

“Such as?” Rebecca asks in a cutting voice.

Riza’s hard eyes show equal resolve. “For some, it’s money--”

“ _Women, sex, status, glory_ ,” Greed instantly says, as if out of habit. Lan Fan swats him in a chiding manner. He blinks, broken out of some kind of trance.

“For _some_ ,” Riza goes on, growing annoyed that this is the second time someone’s interjected with nonsense. “It’s something far more valuable. Love.”

Roy’s heart skips. His face falls into one of gentle hopefulness. He smiles. “Lieutenant--”

“Not me,” she says quickly, shoving him away just as he’s about to embrace her. She tucks her chin, shooting her in-canon-friend a knowing look. “Or am I wrong, Rebecca?”

Rebecca and Riza stare at one another, neither willing to break eye contact first. Roy can’t help but think that this conflict is kind of hot.

Havoc’s face contorts. “Who the _hell_ is Rebecca?”

And that’s when Rebecca caves.

“Me!” she explodes, turning away from Riza and yanking on Havoc’s bandana/buff. “ _I’m_ Rebecca! Not Roxanne! Not Rosy! Not Romilda! RE-BEC-CA!”

“This seems like a good transition to vote,” says Jeff Probst.

“Wait!” Ed protest. “I’ve barely gotten to speak!”

“So?” Jeff Probst looks over his shoulder as Heiderich returns with a steaming cart of hot coals.

“So?” Ed demands, incredulous. “ _So?_ So, I’m the title character! You can’t just--”

“Havoc, you have the immunity necklace,” says Jeff Probst. “You can either keep it or give it to someone else.”

From the jury bench, Winry leans close to Armstrong and whispers, “Why does he keep asking that? I mean, what kind of idiot would--”

“Jeff Probst,” says Havoc, standing up.

Roy goes tense. Riza crosses her arms and watches, expressionless. Rebecca and Olivier look at each other, clearly not in on whatever it is he’s about to do.

“Havoc,” says Jeff Probst.

Havoc lets out a long sigh and pulls the necklace over his head. Everyone’s jaws drop, minus the transcriber who is lost in his...transcribing.

“I’ve thought long and hard about this,” he says, and nods. “And Hawkeye is right. We’re not all playing for something as superficial as money.”

“Havoc, no,” Roy says.

“It’s too late for that!” Havoc proclaims, swinging the immunity necklace over his head. “I’m not playing for money, fame or glory, Colonel! I’m playing for love! The love I have for Robin Catalina!”

Rebecca goes red. “Oh, for _fuck’s sake_!”

“Jeff Probst,” Havoc says once more. “I’d like to give immunity to Olivier Mira Armstrong.”

Olivier’s eyes stretch wide open. She stares in shock as he places the necklace around her neck.

“You’re tonight’s vote,” he tells her. “Or at least you were. But not anymore.”

All the while, Roy is perfectly calm. He sits with a straight back, his hands folded neatly on his lap. Riza watches him carefully, knowing that perhaps his unadulterated rage is of less concern.

Winry and Armstrong are both completely still. Jeff Probst laughs. He says, “Alright then. You cannot vote for Olivier. Everybody else is fair game. It is time to vote. Havoc, you’re up.”

Now necklace-less, Havoc rises and walks to the voting table. He writes _Colonel Mustang_ down and holds it up.

“I never thought I’d ever be writing your name, boss,” he says. “But I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep living this lie.”

When he returns, Roy is up. They pass each other in slow-motion, and Roy actually smiles on his way up.

He writes down a name and says, “Oh, Jean. You think I, your commanding officer, don’t know you by now? I hand picked you for my unit. I’ve read your file until my eyes have bled. You’re my man. You’ve always been my man.” He laughs a bit, as if he hadn’t been adamantly refuting this outcome at the beginning of the chapter. “But you’re the knight. And sometimes the knight must be sacrificed for the king.”

He folds his vote and drops it in the pot. When he sits, Edward walks to the voting table. He pauses, scratching his head before he scribbles his choice. When he holds it up, he says, “Let’s just say, I’m on a pretty short leash. But even so, this is a choice I would have made ages ago if I could have.”

Next up is Greed who grips the pen so fiercely it bends in his grasp. He casts his vote without a word and returns to the bench.

Olivier is next. Her vote reads _Mustang_. Holding it up, she says, “Day seventeen, Mustang. I don’t care who stands next to me in the final tribal council. All I know is, it won’t be you. And that alone is rewarding beyond measure.”

Rebecca writes hers, and promptly thereafter, Lan Fan. Riza gets up next and taps her pen ponderously against the page. At last, she writes a name.

“You chose the wrong side,” Riza says. “I’m truly sorry to do this to a comrade and friend. But this is a game of survival and your alliance is dangerous.”

She sits down, releasing a long breath. Jeff Probst behind him, to Heiderich flipping the hot stones around, and then says, “I’ll tally the votes.”

A few minutes later, he’s back with the pot and says, “Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

The pot is opened and he reaches inside. Jeff Probst extracts a folded sheet of paper.

“First vote.” He turns it around. “Colonel Mustang.”

Roy sputters a laugh, but says nothing more. Olivier studies him with leery eyes.

Jeff Probst reads the next vote. “Mustang.” He sets it aside. “Two votes Roy.”

He and Riza meet each others’ eyes. Her stoic disposition cracks for a split second, and she actually smiles.

“Roy Mustang,” Jeff Probst reads, and he places it atop the other two votes. “That’s three votes Roy.”

Olivier is confused. Unless the votes were unanimous, why would Jeff Probst not mix another vote in just to build suspense? Not unless...someone _else_ were on the chopping block.

And Jeff Probst reveals the next vote. “Regina.”

Rebecca stomps both feet and yells, “Hel _lo_!”

“Regan,” Jeff Probst reads. “That’s...wait.” He looks up, puzzled. “Are these two for the same person?”

Rebecca buries her face into Havoc’s shoulder and whimpers, “I give up.”

Jeff Probst extracts yet another vote. “Uh….” He shakes his head when he reveals it. “Okay, who wrote _Wrath_?”

“I don’t care if he quit!” Greed yells, jumping to his feet. “I want _you_ to snuff his torch, Jeff Probst!”

“This vote isn’t valid,” Jeff Probst argues.

“Well, I’m not changing it!” Greed yells with so much passion, his voice cracks.

Judging him, Jeff Probst puts the vote down and says, “Fine, whatever. Three votes Roy, two Ren, one Bradley.”

Rebecca lets out a muffled scream.

Jeff Probst reads the next vote. “Rebecca.”

She springs away from Havoc, tears dripping down her face, and asks, “W-wait...someone got it right?”

“Oh.” Lan Fan sits up straight. “That was mine. Wow. I knew it started with the letter R. That was a total shot in the dark.”

That’s when Riza curls her fingers into a fist and whispers, “Fucking hell.”

Rebecca looks at her in shock. In a small voice, she squeaks, “Riza?”

“I _swore_ it was Regan,” she mumbles. She looks up apologetically. “I’m sorry, Rebecca. Sometimes I forget.”

“Are you _kiddi_ \--”

“Three votes Roy,” Jeff Probst says. “Three votes to...well, her.” He points to Rebecca. “One vote le--”

“Eh _emmm_ ,” Greed growls.

Jeff Probst sighs. “And _one vote Bradley_. Now.” He thrusts his hand into the jar and pulls out the final vote. He unfolds it harshly and says, “Ninth person voted off of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the fourth member of our jury.” Jeff Probst reveals the vote. “Riley. Bring me your torch.”

“No!” Havoc screams. He wraps his arms and legs around Rebecca, his eyes welling with tears. “THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! _THIS ISN’T WHAT WE WANTED_!”

“HEY!” Ed snaps. “That’s my line!”

“Jean, let go,” Rebecca says weakly.

“Never!”

“I cannot believe this,” Olivier says. She looks at Roy and he’s grinning smugly. She cannot wait until they get back to camp. She’s going to light his hair on fire and only when he cries for mercy will she toss him into Bradley’s moat.

“Jean.” Rebecca swallows a sob. “J-J…” And then she throws herself on him, planting a kiss on his lips.

Olivier makes a _tch_ sound. Ed turns red from embarrassment. Riza and Lan Fan cannot help the way they stare, totally nonplussed.

Major Armstrong weeps openly, tossing roses toward the two.

“Oh, Lieutenant Havoc!” he cries. “Young maiden!”

Rebecca pulls away and whispers, “Win this for us, Jean. For Thomas.”

“I thought you were only _pretending_ to like him,” Olivier says, still appalled.

“At first,” Rebecca admits sheepishly. She’s flushed and disheveled, Havoc’s arms still around her. “But then I touched his bicep and...well…” She rubs her cheek against the topic of conversation.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Olivier says.

“Don’t forget me, Jean,” Rebecca says.

“I’d never dream of it, Ruth,” Havoc whispers as she extricates herself and grabs her torch. She presents it to Jeff Probst with a nod, accepting her fate.

“Ronnie,” says Jeff Probst. “The tribe has spoken.”

He smothers her flame and she is dismissed. Greed does not hesitate to stand up and thrust a torch into Jeff Probst’s face.

“Greed,” Jeff Probst says. “Tribal council is over.”

“ _Say it_ ,” Greed forces through his teeth.

Jeff Probst looks at the hot stones. They’re practically calling his name. He shakes his head and says, “Fine. Fuhrer Bradley, the tribe has spoken.”

“Now snuff it,” Greed says.

Jeff Probst does.

With a delighted grin, Greed returns to his seat. Jeff Probst tears his shirt off and says, “Everyone get out. Except you, Heiderich.”

___

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Rebecca Catalina**

“I don’t even know what to make of this,” she says. “But at the same time, I can’t say I’m surprised. I think I knew it was either going to be the General or me tonight. Unfortunately, Jean sometimes lets his heart speak louder than his brain.” She looks down. “Maybe that’s why I fell for him.” Rebecca shakes her head. “At any rate, I know Jean doesn’t have a shot at winning this, so it’s up to the General now.” She gets close to Archer’s phone camera and spits, “General, you _crush_ Mustang like I know you can. Don’t let him win.”

She sighs. “I mean, I guess I’m off to Central to collect weapons and be a part of the revolution. Or whatever.”

___

 **Votes:  
** Ed: Regina  
Greed: Bradley  
Riza: Regan  
Roy: Riley  
Havoc: Roy  
Lan Fan: Rebecca  
Olivier: Roy  
Rebecca: Roy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I mentioned this earlier, but if you follow me on tumblr (the-musical-alchemist), you get a lot of bonus content for this fic. Like deleted scenes, subpar illustrations, and more.   
> So if you're ever bored and down for some lame amusement, check that out! 
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much if you're reading <3


	14. Episode 8 (Part 1)

Lan Fan doesn’t bother telling Greed that she could probably slip into Bradley’s palace with ease. A part of her thinks his incessant whining is beginning to corrode the young lord and getting what he wants will only exacerbate this. But a slightly more dominant part of her is far too entertained by the ordeal to satisfy him now.

“On three, Lan Fan,” says Greed, standing at the edge of the moat. “Get your spear ready.”

Halfheartedly, Lan Fan twirls her weapon as she might a baton. “My spear is ready, homunculus.”

“One,” says Greed, his smile growing wider. “Two…. _THREE_!”

With a maniacal laugh, he throws himself into the moat. Immediately after, sirens blare and red lights flash against the palace walls. Lan Fan looks up confusedly. Where in the world are those lights coming from?

“What?” Greed yells, flapping around in the water, his wet fringe plastered to his forehead. The alligators drift toward him. The black material of his ultimate shield slips over him.

“LAN FAN!” Greed cries, backstroking away. “LAN FAN, _NOW_!”

The commotion lures the remaining players to the edge of the moat. They fan out from behind Lan Fan, but immediately stumble back as black bars rise from the ground and cage the palace as it stands.

“I knew it was a bad idea,” Lan Fan says with a sigh.

Ed looks from Greed, flailing around and trying to fight off an alligator that gnaws on his shield-leg, to Lan Fan who watches him disdainfully.

“That’s Ling’s body,” he tells her, pointing weakly. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

Lan Fan shrugs. “He has a philosopher’s stone. The young lord will be fine. I can only hope this will be a lesson to them both.”

She turns on her heel and stalks toward camp. From inside the cage, Greed scrambles away from an alligator and screams, “LAN FAN! GET BACK HERE!” He howls when another alligator chomps on his arm.

“This is grievous,” says Olivier.

Roy sort of smiles. He tugs on Riza’s sleeve and whispers, “If Greed dies, that means we’re down to six players.”

As the novelty of this moment begins to wear off, Ed yawns. “I’m starving. Who wants to help me catch some dinner?”

Riza tears her eyes away from the scene before her. “Uh.” She shakes her head and follows Ed as he departs. “I’d be happy to help.”

Greed is almost to the other side of the moat when he reaches out and makes contact with a force field so powerful it catapults him out of the water and straight through the security bars. He strikes the ground outside with force that would kill any regular mortal, and collapses into a moaning heap.

Olivier prods his back with her foot and he quivers. She slowly backs away and says, “I suppose I’ll start a fire.”

___

**Confessional: Greed**

Greed is swaddled by the tarp Ed wove off-screen in the previous chapter. He shivers, holding the corners close to his heart. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, as if he simply cannot conjure any coherent thoughts on this matter.

Finally, he lets out a long exhale. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it promptly thereafter.

___

Havoc finds Roy by their campsite, eating a banana. He stomps over and slaps the fruit out of his hand. Roy eyes follow the banana as it thuds against the sand, completely ruined. He can feel nothing outside of abject disbelief. Not because his subordinate laid a hand on him.

Because Jean Havoc threw food on the ground.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Havoc snarls, grabbing Roy by the collar of his surprisingly firm shirt and wrenching him to his feet.

Roy drags his gaze away from the potassium delicacy and to Havoc’s vengeful eyes. He sighs, taking his lieutenant by the wrists, prying them off him.

“What the hell was _what_?” Roy asks, smoothing out his shirt. Hawkeye worked _very_ hard to sew this to a point where it was of incomprehensibly better quality than when he bought it. No way he’ll let that hard work go to waste.

“Tribal council!” he spits. “You weren’t supposed to vote for _her_!”

Roy shakes his head, lifting a hand. “Havoc, who were you expecting we vote for? Honestly, you should be more surprised it wasn’t you after the stunt you pulled.”

“Hawkeye told me our vote was going to General Armstrong,” he says, glaring through slitted eyes “It’s awfully convenient all your allies _knew_ to vote for Rowan. Common sense _would_ dictate a split between votes in your confusion. Our votes against you were supposed to outnumber.”

Roy laughs. He even sets a hand on Havoc’s shoulder, which causes the man to tremble with anger.

“Lieutenant,” says Roy. “You’re growing paranoid. Maybe three weeks without a cigarette is starting to get to you.”

___

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“The plan was simple,” Roy says with a laugh. “My closest ally is the Hawk’s Eye. You think there’s a thing on this island she doesn’t see? Once she overheard Havoc and Rabea’s plan, it was proof enough that my knight had jumped ship.” He laces his fingers behind his head. “The plan was to vote for Romily the entire time, but to trick Havoc into exposing his betrayal in front the entire tribe and jury. Protecting Ranita could be seen as an act of love. Protecting Armstrong? That’s a new alliance. And I know my knight. I know Havoc would have done whatever he could to protect those two.”

___

“I know it was on purpose,” Havoc hisses. “I don’t know what you did or how this was executed–”

“You don’t have any proof,” Roy says, smiling.

Havoc shoves Roy into a tree. He leans in and shouts, “You’re just…” He clenches his fists. “You’re nothing but a cheater and a bully! You’re a terrible ally and an _even worse friend_!”

Havoc whirls around and stomps away. Roy stares after him, completely speechless.

___

**Confessional: Jean Havoc**

“I’m done with that cocky son of a bitch,” says Havoc. He flexes his fingers. “I wanted to hit him. But I knew if I did…I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I can’t risk getting disqualified. I’m still after that money.”

___

Ed goes to his sleeping area to collect fishing materials, but finds a curious manila envelope instead. He furtively looks around, then tears the envelope open.

“Edward!” Riza calls from the shore. “The fishing wire?”

“Just a second!” Ed yells. He positions himself so that Hawkeye can only see his back. He reaches into the envelope and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. Opened, it’s a hand-drawn crayon illustration of two blond stick figures holding hands, one with Ed’s signature braid.

Ed shakes his head, touching the magenta _BROTHERS 4EVER_ that glitters across the top of the page. When he brings his finger up, flecks of glitter twinkle on his skin.

Ed sets the drawing aside and overturns the envelope. A small gray bottle falls onto his lap with a post-it note attached.

 _Brother_ ,

 _I know your automail is getting stiff_. _I’ll try and get you some additional parts later._

_\- A.H (aka your brother)_

Ed raises the bottle to eye level. It’s oil. The very same that Winry uses whenever he goes home for maintenance.

___

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“On one hand,” says Ed. “Allying with Heiderich was the best decision I ever made. I’m well-fed, my automail feels better already, and he has my back in case of emergencies.” He lets out a tired sigh. “On the other, he’s starting to grate on my nerves. Plus, he’s going to be really difficult to explain to Al once this is all over.”

___

Ed pockets the oil and joins Hawkeye with the fishing wire. They cast their lines and stand in awkward silence together.

Hawkeye breaks it by saying, “There are seven of us left, Edward. I’m sure you’ve been tempted to place your loyalties elsewhere by now.”

Ed swallows, tightening the wire coiled around his hand. Despite himself, he maintains his resolve, not breaking his concentrated gaze on the water.

“The way I see it,” Ed says carefully, “I’m screwed either way. Either you tell Jeff Probst I transmuted and I’m disqualified, or you and the Colonel get rid of me at tribal council.”

Hawkeye doesn’t respond for a while, mulling over her words. Ed hates how careful she is. How is he supposed to gain leverage if he can’t get any dirt on her?

Suddenly, her line is tugged from underwater. She starts to reels in her catch.

“Well,” says Hawkeye as she yanks it out. A fish twitches and flops at the end of her hook. “Then I suppose it’s important that you win immunity.”

__

Olivier sits alone by the shore when Havoc finds her that night. It reminds her of that scene at the beginning of Episode 2, wherein she and her ally first swore their loyalty to each other.

___

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“Am I emotional?” She scoffs. “Absolutely not. My ally was eliminated because she was not strong enough to outlast. I don’t have the time or care to snivel and cry over it.”

___

Havoc sits beside her, and Olivier’s instinctive reaction is to roll her eyes. She certainly hopes he doesn’t think last night made them allies. Though his move at tribal council was far from cowardly, it was foolish. And Olivier will sooner face elimination than swear allegiance to a fool.

“Man, I miss Raelene,” Havoc sighs.

“Get out of my sight, Havoc.”

His eyes bug out of his head. In his disbelief, he manages to choke out, “What?”

“You heard me,” she says. She doesn’t even bother looking at him. “You were better off riding Mustang’s coattails. At least there, you were safe. Now? Well, I’m not dumb enough to ally with the tribe pariah.”

“One of us is getting eliminated next!” Havoc protests.

“Untrue,” says Olivier. She smirks. “ _You’re_ getting eliminated next. I fully intend to win immunity. Anything beyond that is your problem.”

Havoc’s retort is to make a series of incoherent noises as Olivier gets up to leave him. She doesn’t have time to play a social game. Not when there’s a challenge tomorrow that could either make or break her.

___

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“If I don’t win tomorrow’s challenge,” says Olivier, “I will fall prey to Mustang. And I cannot let that happen. I absolutely refuse to lose this way.”

___

 

##  **// IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //**

“Come on in, guys!” Jeff Probst yells.

The remaining players join him on the sandy field. Before them is an obstacle course starting with a table for each player, followed by a long wooden log positioned atop the sand. Beyond that lies seven parallel balance beams. At the end there is a horizontal windmill of mathematical operations stamped onto tiles that disappear and reappear as the apparatus spins.

“We are down to the final seven.” Jeff Probst says. He places his hands on his hips with a grin. “Edward Elric. Greed. Olivier Armstrong. Riza Hawkeye. Jean Havoc. Lan Fan. Roy Mustang.”

“Why was my name not mentioned first?” Greed demands.

“Homunculus, hush,” Lan Fan says tiredly.

“Olivier,” says Jeff Probst. “I’ll be taking immunity back.”

She takes it off and tosses it to him. He catches it and places it on a podium. “Immunity is back up for grabs.”

“It wasn’t even hers to begin with,” Roy mutters.

“Are you guys ready to get to today’s challenge?” Jeff Probst asks. He doesn’t wait for the castaways to reply. He snaps his fingers which brings Heiderich out from the trees alongside Hohenheim of Light. The two carry an enormous tarp-covered basket and set it on the sand with a grunt.

“You’re not only playing for immunity,” says Jeff Probst. He looks over at Heiderich and Hohenheim of Light and makes a face. They stand side by side, smiling.

“Get out,” says Jeff Probst.

Hohenheim of Light frowns. He somberly drags his feet back toward the jungle. Heiderich lingers for a second longer, boring his eyes into Ed’s.

Wildly pantomiming, Heiderich mouths, _DID YOU GET MY PACKAGE, BROTHER?_

Ed shakes his head and looks away.

“Heiderich!” Jeff Probst snaps.

With a yelp, the boy scurries in Hohenheim of Light’s trail. Jeff Probst turns back toward the castaways with an irked, “ _Anyway_ , today’s win comes with reward.” He yanks the tarp away, revealing a bountiful basket of goodies. A rotisserie chicken, rack of ribs, french fries, jar of cookies, a full cake, a bottle of wine, and…

“Is that…” Roy trips over himself and Riza catches him by the back of the shirt before he hits the ground. A line of drool hangs from his mouth. “SPINACH QUICHE?”

“Freshly made,” says Jeff Probst.

“Oh my god,” Roy whispers.

Havoc’s eyes harden to steel. Over his dead body will the colonel get so much as a bite of that quiche.

“Hold on a minute,” says Ed skeptically. “I know how this works, Jeff Probst. What’s the catch?”

Jeff Probst gasps, totally offended by the notion. “Excuse me! Is it _so_ far-fetched that a host as loving as myself would want to do something _nice_ for his players?”

“Yes,” says everyone in unison.

“My wound from the slip and slide challenge has turned black,” says Riza.

“The stale skittles gave me explosive runs,” Havoc adds.

“My hand hasn’t fully healed from the beam challenge splinters,” Roy says.

“I’m missing an arm,” Lan Fan grumbles.

Their blistering eyes finally crack him. Jeff Probst sighs.

“Fine,” he relents. “The Emmy nominations for Best Reality TV Host were just announced and I was snubbed. According to the forums, I’m just not as _caring_ as Nick Cannon. Can you believe that?”

He’s met with silence. A tumbleweed flies across. Jeff Probst shakes his head and mutters, “Anyway, for today’s challenge.” He points to the log. “You’re going to dig a hole under this log so that you can get under and to the other side. You will then run across the balance beam and to the windmill. You’re going to see a series of spinning equation operations. You will memorize as many as you can and run back across the beam and under the log to these tables.” He points to the tables at the beginning of the course. “You’ll plug those operations into the equation written on your table and then solve it. First one to get the answer wins immunity and a one in six shot of winning this game.”

“And a quiche,” says Roy.

“And a quiche,” Jeff Probst echoes.

Roy balls his hand into a victory fist. He nudges Riza. She rolls her eyes and pretends not to notice him.

“Oh!” Jeff Probst says. “Before you start!” He snaps his fingers again. In comes 03!Sloth with a gigantic sack. She shoves it into Jeff Probst’s arms and he stumbles back. He tosses the sack to Riza’s feet. She looks down at it questioningly.

“Those are some of my shirts,” Jeff Probst says.

“ _Some_?” Ed murmurs.

“The work you did on Roy’s…” Jeff Probst chuckles. “Well, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen. So I need you to do the same on the shirts in the bags. Wear and tear has gotten to them and a few have rips and holes I’d like fixed. Thanks a lot, Riza.”

“Jeff Probst,” Riza begins. “I can’t–”

“Let’s draw for spots and get started!” Jeff Probst says.

Riza glares at Ed. He swiftly sidesteps away so that Greed blocks her in his field of vision.

___

Once everyone is in their proper order, Jeff Probst raises his hand and calls out, “For immunity! Survivors ready?”

“Born ready,” Olivier growls.

Jeff Probst brings his hand down. “Gooooo!”

They take off and Lan Fan is immediately off to a good start, using her legs to dig and her one arm to brace herself.

“Lan Fan making up for last challenge, I see!” Jeff Probst announces.

Ed, on the other hand, carefully shovels sand with his flesh arm using the automail to hold his body up. With only two metal fingers left, he can’t afford to lose his dexterity. However, as sand gets stuck in between the parts of his automail leg, his movements grow stiff as well.

Olivier digs like a beast, shoveling sand with both arms at once, each pile flying over her shoulder and into Roy’s face. He spits up and chokes as the grains fall into his mouth.

Havoc and Riza both move steadily, the latter fitting her body into the hole, trying to slip under. She gets stuck underneath the heavy log and has to shove sand out of the way to make room.

“Riza thought she had it, but got stuck!” Jeff Probst says. “I guess she’s not as smart a player as she is a good seamstress.”

“He is _so_ lucky they don’t allow firearms on the island,” Riza growls through her teeth as she scrapes her elbows against the sand, trying to wriggle free.

Ed realizes quickly that a small transmutation could get him out of this in no time. He looks over to see if perhaps Heiderich is on hand to distract everyone, but that’s exactly when Lan Fan makes it out.

“Lan Fan to the balance beam!” Jeff Probst says.

She leaps onto the beam and darts across in a flash, then somersaults off. She makes it to the windmill and starts murmuring the operations as they appear.

“Divide, multiply, add, subtract…” she murmurs, then trails off to count in her head.

“No,” Olivier gasps. Not one of Mustang’s dogs. She will _not_ lose to one of them. She breaks off into a scream and roundhouse kicks a pile of sand into Roy’s face. He screeches as it makes contact with his eyes, but that only allows more to cascade down his nose and into his mouth. He starts to cough.

“Armstrong!” he wheezes.

She throws herself under the log and jumps atop the balance beam. Riza is still very stuck. Ed has made close to no progress. Roy’s red eyes water profusely.

“This is a great log,” says Greed, running his hand across it. The Survivor logo is printed across the center. “It would look fantastic by my bed at camp.”

Roy shoves his legs under his log, only to get more sand thrown in his face by Havoc from his other side. However, unlike Olivier, it is not a result of intense digging.

No, Havoc is literally grabbing handfuls of sand and aiming them at Roy’s face.

“Stop that!” Roy cries.

“This is for Reinalda, you soggy cracker!”

Riza pulls herself free at the cost of her skin. Her arms and legs are red and covered in scrapes and scratches. But she’s up. She runs across the balance beam. In that time, Lan Fan is already on her way back.

“Lan Fan back across the beam, ready to start her equation!” Jeff Probst says.

“Oh, yeah, there’s a challenge going on,” says Greed, shaking himself back into reality. He activates his ultimate shield and shovels through the sand, wriggling under the log with ease. He’s immediately on the balance beam, joining Riza and Olivier.

“Greed still in this!” Jeff Probst says. “Lan Fan on the equation!”

“DAMMIT!” Ed shrieks. He’s halfway buried in sand and not moving. On the plus side, the Colonel and second Lieutenant aren’t doing much better.

“You need to get over it!” Roy shouts, now throwing handfuls of sand back into Havoc’s face. “It’s just a game!”

“Just a _game_?” Havoc bellows. He kicks sand into Roy’s mouth. The Colonel gags, keeling over and dry heaving.

“It’s more than a _game_ , Colonel!” says Havoc. “Reila Catalina _was my life_!”

“You don’t even know her name!” Roy gasps between retches.

Olivier runs across the balance beam and slides back under the log to join Lan Fan at the tables.

Lan Fan has five operations down and is running back across the course to get the final five. Olivier starts writing hers down.

“Riza coming back!” Jeff Probst says, but his abrupt yelling causes her to falter and lose her balance. She falls over and onto the sand. She scrambles up and starts back at the beginning of the beam, which costs her precious seconds as Greed is already heading back to the tables.

Lan Fan rushes back just as Olivier runs across the beam to get her second set of numbers.

“Ed, Roy, and Havoc, not even in this anymore,” says Jeff Probst.

Roy and Havoc have resorted to throwing sand at each other while Ed is halfway buried under his log, crying out, “I screwed up! I’m stuck!”

“It’s a woman’s challenge today,” says Jeff Probst. “Or Greed’s. One in six shot. That could make you or break you at this point in the game.”

Riza stops at her log and screams in frustration. Roy and Havoc’s sand fight completely buried her exit. She drops to her knees and shovels it away, yet again.

“With all due respect, sir!” she yells, “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

“It’s between Lan Fan and Olivier,” says Jeff Probst. “Who will be safe from tonight’s vote?”

Roy wipes his sandy face and spits, “You know what, Havoc? I don’t think you love Catalina at all! I think she’s just the first woman you’ve ever encountered who didn’t choose _me_ over _you_. And you just couldn’t lose her.”

This does Havoc in. He gets up and tackles Roy, landing punch after punch on his smug face. Roy grabs Havoc by the shoulders and flips him onto the sand. He straddles his waist and slugs him in the eye.

“You _bastard_!” Havoc screams, tossing Roy off of him and kneeing his groin.

Riza stops, watching with wide eyes. As Colonel Mustang’s bodyguard, she wonders if she should, like, do something.

Then she sees Lan Fan and Olivier getting closer to solving the equation and decides that’s far more important. She continues to dig, leaving her commander and subordinate to fight to the death. Or whatever.

“Hey, _hey_!” Jeff Probst yells, waving his arms over his head. “No fighting! STOP THE CHALLENGE! STOP THE–”

“Jeff Probst,” says one of the Elric impersonators with Heiderich on his heels. He holds a cell phone. “What kind of crust?”

“Stuffed,” says Jeff Probst, forgetting the challenge completely, even as Havoc wails in the background. Fake!Elric turns away and Jeff Probst hastily adds, “The kind that you can rip off and dunk into marinara sauce! And don’t forget the cinnamon sticks!”

It’s between Olivier and Lan Fan. The two have plugged in all of their operations and are now solving the math. Riza is still digging. Greed is distracted by the chalk he was given. He drops it into his pocket before anyone can see.

“Jeff Probst!” Olivier yells at once. “I HAVE IT!”

“ME TOO!” Lan Fan says a single breath later.

Roy and Havoc continue to pound on each other. Riza looks over with a disdainful sigh. Weakly, she says, “Sir.”

“I’ll _kill_ you!” Havoc forces through his teeth, the veins in his neck bulging out.

“STOP THIS AT ONCE!” Jeff Probst yells.

“Enough with this nonsense!” Olivier grabs a stick off the ground and wields it like a sword. She walks over and thrusts it under Jeff Probst’s chin. He freezes, his eyes pointing downward.

“Evaluate my answer,” she commands.

Jeff Probst’s swallows. Olivier guides him to the table, stick still drawn. She only releases him when he confirms, “This is the correct answer. Olivier wins immunity.”

Lan Fan slams her hand on the table. Had she been half a second sooner, she could have won. Olivier guffaws in victory.

Jeff Probst presents her with the immunity necklace, but his eyes are drawn to where Roy and Havoc have just been separated by Riza and Greed.

Panting, the men thrash, desperately trying to land another punch on their opponent. Meanwhile, Ed is still stuck under his log, writhing uselessly.

“Sir, _enough_!” Riza chides.

“Yeah, enough,” Greed adds monotonously, using Havoc’s moment of distraction to raid his pockets. He finds a seashell and banana peel and quickly conceals it in his own pockets.

“Roy, Havoc,” says Jeff Probst sternly. Riza and Greed release the two and they stand shoulder to shoulder under Jeff Probst’s withering glare.

“Your behavior during today’s challenge was abominable,” he says, then frowns. “And as such, I have no choice but to punish the entire tribe.”

Olivier’s head snaps up. “Excuse me, _what_?”

“Such violence cannot be rewarded,” Jeff Probst goes on. “Therefore, this basket of treats will no longer be given to the winner of today’s challenge, but rather–”

“Okay, _no_!” Olivier steps forward. “I won the challenge! I had nothing to do with their petty little quarrel!”

“On this island, you become a family!” Jeff Probst screams with unexpected acerbity. His mouth foams from the intensity. “You rise together and fall together!”

“That is literally the opposite of this game,” Lan Fan says. “We’re all trying to outplay each oth–”

“This cannot go unpunished,” Jeff Probst reiterates. “So I will be eating the contents of this basket instead. As a paternal figure to you all, it is only right.”

“You just ordered a pizza!” Ed yells from under his log.

Jeff Probst ponders this. “Yes, I did just order a pizza.” He looks over at the basket and licks his lips. “But it will take roughly forty five minutes to deliver.”

“This is an outrage!” Olivier stomps over to the basket. “I won this feast! It’s ridiculous that I should have that squandered by the inappropriate behavior of two players I have nothing to do with.”

“Olivier, you are safe from tonight’s tribal council where one of you will be voted off,” says Jeff Probst. He sits beside the basket and tears a thigh off the chicken. Between chewing, he says, “Get back to camp.”

“We will not–”

“Tucker!” Jeff Probst calls, growing exasperated. “The van?”

That’s all the castaways need to hear before they’re gone. Except Ed who wiggles under his log, yelling, “WAIT FOR ME!”

Greed trudges back and slices through the log with his shield. He plucks Ed like a flower and hoists him over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, pipsqueak,” he says.

Ed beats his fists against Greed’s back, howling, “Bastard! Who are you calling a pipsqueak!?”

His irksome trilling fades as they venture further into the jungle. Jeff Probst sighs with relief and takes a huge bite out of the quiche.

Heiderich peeks his head out of a bush and asks, “Jeff Probst, can I have a–”

“No,” Jeff Probst says mid-chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still so sorry about the lack of proper page breaks D:
> 
> These immunity challenges are getting so violent. This is the third fight. Fourth if you count Lan Fan kicking the crap out of Riza in the wire maze.
> 
> Maybe it’s a sign that I need to stop with this sad slapstick humor.
> 
> Olivier wins immunity! Lan Fan…so close, my love. So we have tribal council next. It’s coming down to the wire. Nobody is safe. 
> 
> Also, I’m running out of R names to call Rebecca. (Notice how they’re getting more and more obscure DX)
> 
> Thank you guys for following this disaster of a fic. sjhfsakgjhskdjhgf All your likes and reblogs and tags make me smile and laugh like nothing else. I’m so happy if this dumb story is amusing anybody <3


	15. Episode 8 (Part 2)

Ed lies peacefully on the sand, his flesh arm draped over his eyes so to block the sun. For the first time in many days, he feels at peace. Tranquil. Nothing could possibly rattle this moment.

He’s then crushed by an enormous pile of blue shirts.

Gasping for breath, he tosses an armload away from him and sputters, “What the hell is this?”

Squinting through the low sunlight, he sees that a very angry Riza Hawkeye looms over him. Her glare is icy enough to freeze the entire island over.

“Lieutenant,” says Ed, swallowing. He sits up and screws his eyes shut, flashes of orange and white dancing behind his eyelids.

“I don’t care how you do it,” she says, kicking one of Jeff Probst’s shirts onto his lap. Ed opens his eyes, her face pulling into focus. “Just have them fixed before tribal council.”

Ed plucks a navy blue shirt from the pile, examining a hole in the armpit. He tosses it away with a sigh.

“Alchemy isn’t exactly inconspicuous,” he mutters. “You expect me to transmute _all_ of these shirts? What if someone sees?”

Sure, he was able to neutralize Heiderich. And Hawkeye promised to keep quiet so long as he keeps her happy. But this late in the game, Ed can’t afford to be in anyone else’s debt. Especially someone like Greed or Olivier who would likely force him to betray Mustang–and ultimately tick Hawkeye off.

“That isn’t my problem,” says Hawkeye. Her eyes sweep his body and she makes a face. “Besides, your automail is moving more easily already. You clearly have friends in high places. Why not ask for assistance?”

That gives Ed an idea.

___

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Having a man on the outside is something I haven’t been taking full advantage of,” he says. “Maybe Mustang has all the power on the island, but I’m the only one with power off of it.”

___

Ed meanders into the jungle, just until he’s out of the camp’s earshot. He stops in the center of a trail and taps his foot.

“If I were Heiderich, where would I be?” Ed murmurs in inquiry.

Heiderich bursts out from a bush, tripping over his own feet in his excitement. He grips Ed’s forearms to catch himself.

“Brother!” he gasps, positively beaming.

Ed blinks, waiting for his racing pulse to return to normal. He shakes the boy off of him and demands, “Heiderich! How long have you been–”

“As soon as I shampooed Jeff Probst’s hair after the challenge, I came running over, brother!”

Ed tries to remind himself that this is good. He motions for Heiderich to come closer, and he eagerly does.

“I need to do more of…that thing I’m not supposed to do,” Ed murmurs in his ear.

Heiderich’s eyebrows furrow. He takes Ed by the shoulder and asks, “What are you talking about, brother?”

“You know,” says Ed quietly, bringing his palms together, pantomiming a transmutation.

Suddenly understanding, Heiderich draws in a swift breath. Ed nods, cautiously raising his palms, lest his fake brother lose his cool and make a scene.

“That’s against the rules,” Heiderich whispers breathlessly.

“I know,” Ed quickly interjects. “I know. But…Heid– _Brother_ , this is for Jeff Probst. And it is your job to make sure Jeff Probst is happy, right?”

“Brother, I don’t–”

“It’ll be fine,” Ed reassures, stretching up on his toes to be able to drape an arm across Heiderich’s shoulders. “I just need you to be my lookout, okay? Stand by the edge of the jungle. If anyone that isn’t Hawkeye comes by, I need you to scream as loud as you can.”

“Brother, please–”

“Thanks, Alfons!” says Ed with a bright smile. He squeezes the boy’s shoulders. “I knew I could count on you.”

__

Olivier approaches Lan Fan once again. She pulls her aside and says, point blank, “You and I are the biggest physical threats as of now. If the two of us ally, we can dominate this game and make it to final tribal council.”

Lan Fan looks toward camp. Riza has taken a nap by their fire pit and Mustang watches over her with a fond smile. In an abortive romantic gesture, he uses a stick to stir her greasy hair. When it gets stuck in the tangles, he kind of just leaves it there and scoots away.

“I won’t pretend the offer isn’t tempting,” Lan Fan murmurs, casting furtive glances in her ally’s general direction.

Decidedly, she crosses her arms, and looks up to meet Olivier’s piercing eyes. “I have little interest in pushing anyone to the top. My alliance with the Colonel is out of convenience and nothing more. If you offer me more security, I will gladly switch sides.”

Olivier glares for a long moment. The acerbity of it would instantly shatter any weakling. But Lan Fan does not waver. In fact, she stares back with equal vehemence.

At last, Olivier cracks a smile. She laughs, bringing her hands to her hips. “No bullshit. I like that.”

“At this point in the game, there is nothing left to lose,” says Lan Fan. “Mustang won’t take me to the end. Either I’m betrayed by you or I’m betrayed by him. I don’t have time to delude myself or anyone else.”

___

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“The General is right,” she says. “I was seconds away from winning today’s challenge. Even without an arm, I’m far more adept, physically, than any of the other players. If the two of us were to team up, we could take over. And in the end, we won’t have to betray one another. By then, it will be up to the jury.”

She closes her eyes in a long-suffering manner. Through gritted teeth, she says, “I hate the Colonel with every fiber of my being. And I would like nothing more than to watch him go down. I’ve been abused and sabotaged by nearly every player left in the game and I refuse to lose to any one of them.”

___

 

“If you can convince the homunculus that voting with us will benefit him,” Olivier says, “We have the numbers on our side. Havoc won’t vote with Mustang. He has no choice but to go with us. By then, it will be four against three.”

Lan Fan considers this in silence. They could get rid of Mustang _tonight_ if they want to. The thought makes her mouth water.

But…

Lan Fan shakes her head. “I think we should vote for Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

Olivier raises her eyebrows.

“Mustang isn’t a physical threat,” she continues. “He hasn’t come close to winning any of the challenges. And he’s only dangerous so long as he has power. After losing Havoc, the Lieutenant is the only one truly loyal to him. Edward’s allegiance to him is as precarious as mine. In fact, I’m confident I can get his vote for tonight.”

Olivier doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t care about Hawkeye.”

“You should,” says Lan Fan. She absently rubs around the metal plating of her broken automail. “She deceived me. And she and Edward have gotten awfully close lately. For what, I don’t know. But he’s protecting her. I think it’s worrisome.”

A bloodcurdling scream breaks out from across the island. Olivier and Lan Fan gasp, whirling around in shock. Instinctively, both women jump into battle stances.

In the jungle, Heiderich cuts through trees, wailing at the top of his lungs.

With machine-like consistency, Ed claps, slams his palms against a shirt, shoves it aside, then grabs the next. He’s halfway through Jeff Probst’s pile when Heiderich dives over it, grabbing Ed’s hands and forcing them down. Ed screams in alarm.

“Shh! Shhhhh!” Heiderich hisses.

Ed shoves Heiderich to the ground. The kid rolls over with a grunt. His eyes snap back to Ed’s in panic.

“Heiderich, _what the_ –”

“Brother, I heard a noise. I think it was a person,” he wheezes, clutching at his heart.

At this moment, Greed steps in, scratching his head in confusion. His eyes land on the shirt pile, then shift to Ed’s breathless fake-brother.

“I can explain,” says Ed.

Greed once again focuses on the shirts. With a strange hunger in his eyes, he asks, “What material are they made of?”

Ed lifts an eyebrow. “Uhhhh.” He studies the tag of the shirt closest to him. “Cotton.”

“Machine washable?” Greed asks.

“I guess,” says Ed.

Greed snatches a shirt off the pile and throws it on. He smiles with satisfaction and says, “Good. I’ll be taking all of them.”

“Those belong to Jeff Probst,” Heiderich says in a small voice.

Greed rolls his eyes. “Well, Jeff Probst also belongs to me, so this isn’t a problem.”

Ed, processing this for the first time, jumps to his feet and points at the homunculus.

“Hey!” he shouts. “You can’t just–”

“Look, I know you fixed the Colonel’s shirt with alchemy,” Greed says tiredly. When Ed shoots him an astounded look, Greed snorts and goes on, “Oh, please. You expect me to believe the lieutenant had a sewing kit? There isn’t anything here that isn’t mine, kid. If there was a needle or thread on this island, I would have known about it.”

Ed’s face falls into a frown. “Wait a minute,” he says. “So if you knew–”

“Truthfully,” Greed says offhandedly, “I couldn’t care less if you cheat so long as you don’t touch my stuff. That said, if you don’t immediately relinquish all of these shirts, I’ll have no choice but to relay the message to–”

“No!” Ed exclaims. He looks between Greed and Heiderich, trying to wrap his head around how he wound up in such a sticky situation. “How the hell am I going to explain that to Jeff Probst?”

“Well, as far as I know, that’s Hawkeye’s problem,” Greed says, already beginning to stuff the shirts back into their sack.

“That’s right, brother,” Heiderich breathes. “We can blame the entire thing on the lieutenant.”

“Okay, no.” Ed says, lifting a hand. “You may not be willing to out me, but Hawkeye is. I can’t afford to piss her off.”

“Sure you can,” says Greed with a tired sigh. “She’s known for, what, almost a week? She’s had more than enough time to tell Jeff Probst the truth. At this point, she’s an accomplice. If you go down, she goes down with you.”

Gold sunlight spills between the cracks in the foliage, brightening the jungle’s colors. Warmth envelops the small alchemist. A bush of flowers blooms out of nowhere.

This might quite possibly be the happiest moment in Edward Elric’s miserable life.

He looks up, his saffron eyes glittering in the light.

“An accomplice,” he whispers.

___

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I’m…free,” Ed says in disbelief. “The lieutenant’s power over me had an expiration date. _I’m free_.”

___

“Anyway,” says Greed, slinging the sack over his shoulder. “If you need me, reconsider. I have things to do.” With that, he makes his exit.

Heiderich watches him leave, then looks at Ed. He gives his arm a tug and asks, “Brother, what’s your plan now?”

“I’m going to get that bastard Colonel back for betraying Winry,” Ed says with a sly grin.

__

“Olivier won immunity,” Roy says to Hawkeye later that day. She weaves her fingers through her hair, picking out bits of twig from earlier.

“I gathered that, sir,” she says.

Roy scowls. “What I was getting at is, we can’t vote her out. So we need to strategize.”

“Isn’t Havoc our obvious choice?” she asks, making a face when she pulls a long string of seaweed out of her hair. She tosses it away.

___

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“There are two people on this island I am certain about,” Roy says. He counts off with his fingers. “Lieutenant Hawkeye and Olivier Armstrong. One is indisputably loyal to me. One openly despises me. The rest, as far as I’m concerned, are potential swing votes.”

___

“How do we know Lan Fan isn’t going to betray us?” Roy asks. He brings his knees up and clasps his hands in thought. “Let’s think about our numbers. You, me, Fullmetal, and Lan Fan. Right now, we have power.”

Riza tips her head curiously. “Sir?”

“But we lost Havoc,” he says. “And right now, Armstrong has immunity. It doesn’t matter how we vote tonight, she’s still going to be safe. Someone in that position would be comfortable enough to try and manipulate the vote because they have nothing to lose.”

“Are you suggesting Armstrong is strategizing?” Riza asks.

“I know she is,” Roy replies. “She’s too clever to sit this out. Based on today, we know it’s very possible Lan Fan can win the next immunity challenge. She’s a trained fighter–agile, strong, and vicious when she’d like to be. Even back on Red, she was our most valuable physical asset once Scar was disqualified.”

Riza recalls her partnership with Lan Fan and how she’d gotten the crap beaten out of her in the wire maze. She instantly sours.

“Get to the point, Colonel,” she mutters.

“If Lan Fan, as my ally, wins immunity,” says Roy, scooting closer to Riza and lowering his voice, “that leaves Armstrong powerless. If things were to continue as they are now, Lan Fan would vote alongside you, Fullmetal, and myself. Armstrong would only have Havoc. Even _if_ Greed were to vote with her, she’d be outnumbered.”

Riza’s eyes widen as the pieces come together. She tilts her head closer to Roy’s and murmurs, “If I were the General, I’d certainly be trying to win Lan Fan over. Especially since she doesn’t care for either of us or Edward. The General and Greed are the only two who haven’t betrayed her.”

Roy waves his hand and then flicks his forefinger Riza’s way. “Exactly.”

“Assuming Olivier is able to sway Greed,” Riza continues, “she’d outnumber our vote if Lan Fan were to switch sides.”

“Which means.” Roy takes a deep breath when he realizes Riza’s bruised up face close enough to kiss. Gosh, she’s so pretty. Even covered in blood, dirt, and grime.

With tenderness, Roy reaches out to touch her swelling cheek–still purple from Lan Fan’s attack–but she swats him away. He holds his hand to his chest with a flinch.

“Colonel!” she snaps.

He blinks, then shakes his head. “I totally thought you were giving me a signal there.”

“What signal?” she hisses. “We’re surrounded by cameras! Why on earth would I–”

“I wouldn’t say _surrounded_ ,” Roy interrupts. He casts a sidelong glance at Archer who sighs and taps his flip phone against his palm.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Turn on.”

Roy looks back at Riza and clears his throat.

“Anyway,” he says, blushing a little. “We have to get Greed on our side. It’s the only way we can ensure neither of us will end up on that jury tonight.”

___

Ed is oiling up his automail when Lan Fan comes up from behind him. She places a hand on her hip and says, “Edward.”

Jumping out of his skin, he hastily screws the bottle closed, only to spill a touch of oil on his shirt front. He blanches and shoves the bottle into his pocket.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he croaks when he turns to face her.

Lan Fan rolls her eyes, clearly not in the mood for this nonsense.

“Listen closely because I’m only going to say this once,” Lan Fan says. Maybe she needs him to gain the numeric upper hand, but he’s still on her shit list for betraying her. She refuses to treat him kindly. “We’re cutting the Colonel off. Now, I don’t know what your allegiance to him is, but what’s for certain is that Winry Rockbell was eliminated on his order.”

Ed, having been rubbing at the new stain on his shirt, suddenly looks up. He narrows his eyes and asks, “What do you know?”

Lan Fan’s cold stare fixes past his eyes, straight into his soul and down his spine. Ed always knew she could be scary, but right now, she could ask him to gouge his own eye out and he’d likely comply.

“After the first individual immunity challenge,” she says, her voice edged with venom. “When you took my arm apart–”

“Did I ever tell you how sorry–”

“Save it,” she snaps, and he shuts his mouth. “I don’t want your pity or remorse. What I want is your vote. That day, I sought help from the Colonel and he didn’t hesitate to ensure Winry’s place on the jury bench. Tell me, Edward. Just how far is he willing to go to protect his allies? If at all.”

Ed’s hand balls into a fist. Dammit, he _knew_ that bastard was behind Winry’s elimination. But hearing Lan Fan’s direct confirmation lights a hot fire in his chest. One that will only be smothered alongside Colonel Mustang’s torch flame.

“I get your point,” Ed mutters. “And you’re right. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“If you’re with us, I won’t even need to sway the homunculus,” Lan Fan continues. “Havoc, the General, and I are set. We need one more vote to outnumber Mustang.”

She brings her knee up, settling into a very intimidating pose. Warily, Ed meets  her steely eyes.

“Well?” she asks.

Ed sighs, but at last breaks into a subtle grin. He reaches for her hand with his own. They shake.

“I’m with you,” he says.

___

When Roy and Riza find Greed, for a moment they are too nonplussed to say a word.

The homunculus sits cross legged by the edge of the moat, with a massive pile of blue short-sleeved button downs shirts to his left. Only when Roy peers closer does he notice they are tied together to form some kind of…rope.

“Are those Jeff Probst’s shirts?” Roy murmurs to her. Riza says nothing, only stares. Damn that Edward Elric. He’s going to pay the next time she sees him.

“Uh….” Riza says, scratching her head.

“Go away,” says Greed, securing another knot.

“Greed,” says Riza, with some frustration. “Where is your vote going?”

With a scowl, he rises to his feet, coiling the shirt-rope around his arm.

“I don’t give a shit, lady,” he tells her, gazing at the palace balcony. “It doesn’t matter who gets voted off, so long as no one takes my stuff.”

He lets a bit of rope fall out of his arms and then winds it up. When he lets it go, it flies to the balcony, but slips right off. He curses and tries again. It doesn’t even hit its mark.

“DAMMIT!” he growls.

Riza looks up at the balcony, then at Roy. Her eyebrows lift as an idea crosses her mind.

___

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“Everything Greed does is out of self-fulfilment,” says Riza. “All I have to do is make sure the outcome will benefit him in order to ensure his cooperation.”

___

Riza takes the ropes from his hands. He yells in protest, but then she tosses the end up. It loops around one of the balcony rails several times. She gives the rope a tug to show that it’s secure.

Greed forgets how to breathe. It takes him a long moment to conjure the will to move forward and sputter, “H-how did you–”

“We call her the Hawk’s Eye,” Roy chuckles with a surge of pride. “You ask her to hit a mark, she won’t miss.”

“That’s right,” Riza says. She holds the remaining rope over the moat. An alligator peaks its head over the water. “And if you vote with us, I won’t let the rest of this rope fall into the alligator’s mouth.”

Greed’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” says Riza.

The two stare each other down, Riza’s grip loosening on the rope with every second that passes. Greed wipes a bead of sweat off his brow and relents.

“Fine,” he says.

___

 

##  **_// TRIBAL COUNCIL //_ **

Riza gives Ed a knowing look as they settle into their seats for tribal council. She’d pulled him aside just before leaving to inform him of their vote for tonight. He did not let on that he was about to betray them. He wants to see the look on Mustang’s face when he is finally destroyed.

Jeff Probst stares at the castaways for a very long time after they’ve all taken their seats. Heiderich stands a little behind him with his hands behind his back.

Minutes pass. Two. Five. After approximately seven, Greed breaks the silence and asks, “Okay, what are we waiting for?”

A tiny growl escapes from the back of Jeff Probst’s throat. His berating glare lands on Riza.

“Well?” he prompts.

Riza does not so much as shift. “Well, what?”

Greed sighs with exhaustion. He slides his palms over his lap and stands up, then scratches the back of his head.

“Look, Probst,” he says. “If this is about my shirts–”

All the oxygen leaves Jeff Probst’s face. He turns a stunning shade of purple and chokes, “ _Your_ –”

“We don’t have time for this,” Olivier says. “We need to confine the remainder of this chapter to a forty minute episode and we’re getting dangerously close to our limit.”

Heiderich tugs on Jeff Probst’s sleeve and whispers, “She’s right, Jeff Probst.”

Jeff Probst concedes, but angrily wags his finger at the tribe. “We’ll return to this later.”

As a sloppy segue, Ed asks, “Don’t you need to bring in the members of the jury, or whatever?”

Jeff Probst glares at him. “Will you let me do my job?”

Ed raises his palms in defense. His automail thumb has gone terrifyingly loose. The oil certainly helps with his movements, but he’s still in desperate need for maintenance and repairs.

“I’ll now bring in the members of our jury,” Jeff Probst says, somewhat sourly.

He announces their presence as they each file in. “Winry, Armstrong, and Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber.”

The man resumes his position from the last tribal council and settles comfortably with the transcription machine on his lap.

Rebecca, however, extends her arms in incredulous vexation. “Excuse me?”

Jeff Probst jumps. With a racing heart, he whirls around to face Heiderich. “Who is that? How did she make it past security?”

“We don’t have security anymore, sir. We used all of the security budget on the challenge windmill.”

“Hello!” Rebecca exclaims. “I was voted out last tribal council! The least you can do is properly induct me into the jury!”

Jeff Probst blinks hard, racking his memory for her face. He draws blanks. Shaking his head, he says, “That can’t possibly be true.”

Rebecca faces the castaways and cries, “Lan Fan, you wrote my name down! You tell him!”

Lan Fan looks over at the others and asks, “Do any of you remember this woman?”

“She looks vaguely familiar,” Greed says. He snaps his fingers repeatedly. “I know her name, I know it. No one tell me!” He grits his teeth for a moment, then claps his hands. He points to her and says, “Lauren!”

Rebecca screams.

“This is an outrage,” says Havoc. Slowly, he rises to his feet.

“Havoc, sit down,” Jeff Probst says impatiently.

Havoc sits, but he says, “Her name is Riza.”

“That’s my name,” Riza mutters.

Roy’s eyes widen in alarm. He looks his lieutenant up and down and asks, “Wait, really?”

“Colonel, I’ve known you since you were sixteen–before either of us joined the military.”

“Can I start typing now?” Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber asks. He adjusts his glasses and sets his fingers on the keys.

“ _REBECCA_ ,” she says slowly, enunciating each syllable. “Rebecca Catalina. Fourth member of the jury.”

“Your sacrifice will not be in vain, my princess!” Havoc shouts across the tribal council hut.

Jeff Probst rubs his temples and yells, “ENOUGH!”

The bustling chatter comes to a halt and the castaways fall quiet. Rebecca takes a seat beside the Fuhrer’s transcriber who rushes to type Jeff Probst’s last statement. Over the near-silence, save the transcriber’s keyboard, the fire continues to crackle.

Jeff Probst takes a calming breath. He folds his hands atop his podium and says, “Now…let’s discuss today’s challenge. It’s imminently clear who the physical threats are in this game. After tonight, we’ll be down to six players. So this question is for those who haven’t exactly excelled in the challenges. How are you staying alive?”

“Because everyone has something they want,” says Riza, surprising her tribe mates by being the first to speak. “You don’t last by winning challenges. That will only save you from elimination. Winning the game requires more.”

Ed’s lips curl into a grin. His hands tremble in anticipation. Just a few more paragraphs and he’ll have her totally nailed.

 _Hell_ , Ed thinks. _Why wait?_

“Hawkeye is right,” he says.

Jeff Probst’s attention shifts his way. Riza raises a curious brow, fixing a careful gaze on him.

“I said this after we merged and I’ll say this again,” says Ed. “None of us made it this far by playing nice. Everyone on this island has something they want, sure, but what’s more, they have a weakness to exploit.” He plants his feet on the ground, stretching back with his hands behind his head. “We keep ourselves in the game by making sure the people around us stay down. Those who don’t end up cut.”

This has Lan Fan’s attention. She asks, “What are you suggesting about the alliances in this game, Edward?”

“They’re only as strong as the crap its participants have on each other,” says Ed with a light shrug. “You sided with the Colonel after Winry sabotaged you–”

“Um, no!” Winry interjects from the jury bench. “That was a _team_ str–”

“Winry, be quiet!” Jeff Probst snaps. “By contract, the jury isn’t allowed to speak until the final tribal council!” Under his breath, he mutters. “Trying to steal my precious screen time.”

Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber hurries to get that exchange down. He starts to sweat.

“The point is,” Ed says, somewhat embittered to have been cut off in the midst of a potentially historical monologue for Survivor seasons to come, “we’re loyal to the people who can bring us down, at this point. And anyone without that power is on the chopping block.”

“You’re speaking rather audaciously,” Riza says, something hard edging her voice. “What brought on this confidence, if I may ask?”

Ed looks around. He has everyone’s undivided attention–minus Greed who hasn’t stopped glaring at the Fuhrer’s transcriber since tribal council officially began.

 _This is it_ , Ed thinks, his pulse quickening from anticipation. _We’re finally drilling a hole into the Colonel’s sick alliance. I’m going to bring Lieutenant Hawkeye to her knees_.

“Jeff Probst,” says Ed, shutting his eyes with a smile. “A question?”

Eager to be addressed, Jeff Probst shoves Heiderich out of frame so nothing can possibly divert the viewer's’ attention from him. He folds his hands, resting his chin atop, and asks, “Yes?”

“Say someone were to break the rules,” Ed says, unable to help his own grin. “And someone else on the island had known about it for a while but never spoke up. Would they face a penalty?”

Ed opens his eyes and sees that Hawkeye is impassive. But he _knows_ she’s boiling inside. He’s cornered her! There’s nowhere left for her to run but into his hand. Ed always thought the best day of his life would be the day he and Al got their bodies back. But he fails to imagine how anything, even something so coveted, could come close to the insurmountable pride and happiness he feels at this moment. He tilts his head back, ready to erupt with laughter.

Jeff Probst stares at him. “Why would I do that?”

Ed deflates. He tilts his head curiously, the smile still etched to his face. “What?”

Heiderich pales. With a hitching breath, he looks around with desperation, trying to find some kind of escape from this. His eyes meet Ed’s and he mouths something unintelligible, tears filling his eyes.

“B-but,” Ed finds his voice, growing anxious. “Wouldn’t they be an accomplice?”

“Maybe on some other show,” says Jeff Probst. He grins at his castaways and winks. “That’s what separates me from the host of The Amazing Race. Remember that for the next Emmy nomination.”

“We don’t have the power for that to matter,” Lan Fan says. “We’re anime characters.”

“Regardless,” Jeff Probst goes on. “If someone here were to know of a secret like that, it would behoove them to tell me. Hell, I’d even offer them a reward for weeding out the rat.” Growing serious, he steps away from the podium and approaches the group.

“Why?” The veins on his neck twitch. His withering eyes land on each and every castaway. “Is there something someone here has to tell me?”

Ed drags his horror-stricken eyes to Riza. Her expression hasn’t changed since his passive-aggressive speech.

He notes a very subtle shift in her weight. That’s all it takes.

“No!” Ed howls. He jumps to his feet and quickly says, “In fact, I think it’s time to vote.”

“We can’t vote,” Jeff Probst sighs. “I have to give the Colonel at least a paragraph of dialogue beforehand. Ever since Bradley’s elimination, he’s inexplicably dominating the fan-favorite poll.” Proudly adjusting the collar of his shirt, he adds, “After _me_ , of course.”

Roy perks up. He touches his own cheek and asks, “Really?”

He turns to Riza with a bright smile. “Lieutenant, did you hear–”

“I heard, sir.”

This breaks Greed out of his glowering trance.

“Really?” he demands, incredulous. “ _Him_?”

“Well, yeah,” says Jeff Probst. He shrugs. “Next to me, he’s the most beautiful person on the island. Look at those eyes.” He peers at him. “Are they really black, Colonel?”

“Actually, many women have described them as _obsidian_ ,” says Roy, grinning like a fool.

Riza sighs, dropping her head into her palm.

Olivier makes a face and says, “I have never been so disgusted by humanity.”

“A paragraph, huh?” Roy ponders aloud. “I suppose I could always practice my first official speech as Fuhrer of Amestris with you all.”

“You already wrote a speech?” Ed asks with a grimace.

Roy stands up, clearing his throat. With a passionate hand to his heart, he begins, “I would first like to thank you all for being here. I am humbled by your loyalty.” He chuckles in earnest. “Especially that of my wife–First Lady, Lieutenant Mustang–”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” says Riza. She grabs him by the forearm and forcibly shoves him back into his seat.

“That’s assuming you survive the Promised Day arc,” Roy tells her. “Which I say in the event of something outlandish happening, like your carotid artery being sliced by a Fuhrer candidate while I’m forced to watch you bleed.”

Riza pales at the thought. “Sir, that’s morbid.”

“What a climax to our love story though.”

“I just threw up in my mouth,” Olivier says. “Can we vote?”

“I suppose we may as well,” Jeff Probst grumbles. With a sigh, he says, “Olivier, you have the immunity necklace. You can keep it or give it to someone else.”

She scoffs. “Right. Like I would ever do something so foolish.”

Havoc makes a small whimpering noise from his seat.

“You cannot vote for Olivier,” says Jeff Probst. “Everybody else is fair game. It is time to vote. Olivier, you’re up.”

She makes it to the voting table in strides, softly chuckling to herself as she uncaps the pen and scribbles on her sheet of parchment. She holds up her vote with a smirk.

 _Hawkeye_.

“I’m willing to be patient,” she says. “If taking out Mustang means first taking out his dogs, then so be it.”

She returns to her seat, followed by Riza. She scribbles Havoc’s name and displays it for the camera.

“You’ve played a reckless game, Havoc. And that isn’t without consequence.” She folds the note in half. “So your game ends here.”

The next to cast their vote is Lan Fan. Her piercing glare bores into the camera. Behind it, Chimera!Tucker flinches.

Greed goes up next, writing his vote and holding it up.

 _Havoc_.

“Yeah, I don’t really know much about you,” he admits. “And I don’t care either. After tribal council, I’m climbing that shirt rope into Wrath’s palace to finally claim it as my own.” He casts a glare over his shoulder and hisses, “Transcribe _that_!”

He walks away, then pivots back, taking a hold of the tribal council pen. It’s an awfully nice pen. And technically his, given that the entire island is–

“Greed!” Jeff Probst yells with exasperation. “Is your obligatory-soliloquy finished?”

The homunculus sighs and tosses the pen back against the table.

Not tonight. But soon.

One victory at a time.

He makes it back to his seat, and Roy gets up to vote next. He scrawls a name and places it into the pot. After him, Havoc follows suit with his own vote.

 _Riza_.

“Look,” Havoc says. “I love you. From the bottom of my heart, I do.” He snarls involuntarily as his mind drifts toward unwanted territory. “But you’re allied with _him_.”

He comes back as Ed makes his way to input the very last vote. His fingers slide through his hair.

“Dammit,” he whispers. “I’m cornered again. If I vote with Lan Fan, the lieutenant can bring me down.” He shakes his head. “But where’s the dignity in that? The Colonel took Winry out. This is only fair.”

He looks over at the jury bench. Winry watches Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber in horror as drool dribbles down his chin.

 _She’s so pretty_ , Ed thinks, as her face twists in disgust. Then he catches himself with a yelp. A blush heats his face.

 _I mean. Pretty_ lame _,_ Ed tells himself with a nod. _Yeah, that’s what I meant_.

He closes his eyes with a grimace as he writes his vote, then drops it into the pot before he can change his mind.

When Ed sits back down, Jeff Probst nods and says, “I’ll tally the votes.”

He returns moments later with the pot and sets it on the podium’s surface as always. “Once the votes are read the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately.” He opens the pot. “I’ll read the votes.”

Sweat dampens Ed’s hairline. He looks over to Roy who could not possibly appear more relaxed. Beside him, Riza’s back is rod-straight as she carefully trains her eyes on Jeff Probst.

Lan Fan and Olivier nod at one another. Havoc gazes toward the jury bench with flushed cheeks.

“First vote.” Jeff Probst reveals it. “Havoc.”

Ed exhales deeply. It’s the Colonel’s handwriting, no question.

Havoc’s attention returns to the actual tribal council. His face drains of color.

“Did he just say my name?” Havoc asks.

“Did you think their vote was going somewhere else?” Lan Fan asks. “It’s only natural you’d be the next on the chopping block after last council’s stunt.”

“Next vote,” says Jeff Probst with some bite. He _hates_ it when castaways speak during his only moment to shine. “Hawkeye.”

Riza blinks, and Ed’s heart skips a beat. She clearly had no idea _she’d_ be the other potential vote tonight. With everyone hellbent on eliminating Mustang, he supposes, he can’t blame her for being surprised.

Jeff Probst turn the next vote over. “Riza. Two votes Riza. One vote Havoc.”

“How the mighty have fallen,” Olivier murmurs, just loud enough for Ed to hear. He tries to maintain a steady breathing pattern.

Roy’s eyes have gone wide. One thing is a direct attack on him. But his lieutenant?

“Hawkeye,” Roy murmurs.

She stares straight again, but Ed can see that her fingers have started to twitch.

Jeff Probst opens the next vote. “Fourth vote.” He turns it around. “Havoc.”

“Okay,” Havoc whispers. “What the _fuck_ –”

“Havoc,” says Jeff Probst, turning the next vote over. “That’s three votes Havoc. Two votes Riza.”

The jury is captivated. Rebecca sits at the edge of her seat, wondering which it’s going to be. Her kind-of boyfriend, or her best friend. Armstrong’s eyes have already begun to fill with tears. Winry, who’d been betrayed by them both, really couldn’t care less who goes, but appears to be engrossed nevertheless.

Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber picks his nose in between fragments of dialogue.

Jeff Probst shows everyone the next vote. “Riza.”

Roy takes Riza’s hand for comfort, but she yanks it out of his grasp and shoves him away.

Riza Hawkeye is the first to admit that she isn’t perfect. But her demise on this island can only be attributed to one thing, and that’s Roy Mustang. She can handle, and even support, him pissing off the brass because in the end, it’s for the sake of Amestris.

But what the fuck does he gain from _this_? Money and fame. And if Riza is sacrificed along the way, she knows he’ll continue on as if nothing. Sure, he’ll scream and cry and probably call out her rank instead of her actual name in his initial moment of weakness. But moments later, he’ll be back on his feet, scheming again.

And this is the man she was going to follow into Hell.

Not today.

“Three Riza,” Jeff Probst says. “Three Havoc. One vote left.”

 _On the bright side_ , Riza tells herself. _If I go down tonight, Edward is going down with me_.

Before revealing the final vote, Jeff Probst says, “Tenth person voted out of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the fifth member of our jury.” He turns it around. “Havoc.”

Riza sighs with relief.

With a strangled cry, Rebecca throws herself off the jury bench and onto her hands and knees.

Havoc tries to keep it together. He refuses to cry in front of his dear Raven. With a stiff upper lip, he rises with his torch and says, “It’s okay, my love.”

“No it’s not!” Rebecca wails. “You were my chance at marrying rich! And you blew it!”

“Thank god,” Roy whispers, looking over at his lieutenant with a smile. But her eyes are stone cold, refusing to meet his.

“How did he evade us _again_?” Olivier mutters.

“The author must really like having him around,” Lan Fan concludes. “Why else would this have worked in his favor for the hundredth time?”

Havoc presents the torch to Jeff Probst, his blue eyes filling dangerously. It also doesn’t help that Armstrong is blubbering ad nauseum.

“Havoc,” Jeff Probst says. He lifts his snuffing tool, and Havoc closes his eyes, bracing himself. “The tribe has spoken.”

The fire is extinguished. Alongside all his hopes and dreams. He can faintly see Thomas the Horse galloping away into the smoke.

And, ultimately, oblivion.

Havoc exits the tribal council hut while Rebecca continues to sob as if someone were disemboweled right in front of her. In a way, something was–her potentially wealthy future.

Ed hesitantly glances up, immediately averting his eyes to the floor when he sees how pissed Lan Fan looks at him. He knows he blew this for them. But he just couldn’t risk it. Not when his own game life was on the line.

“We are down to the final six,” Jeff Probst says. He counts everyone off. “Roy, Greed, Riza, Ed, Olivier and Lan Fan. You should be proud of yourselves. Now grab your torches and head back to camp.”

“Heiderich?” Jeff Probst says, looking at the boy. He hastily straightens up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you make my dinner reservations?”

“Of course I did. I reserved the entire restaurant just like you said. But, Jeff Probst, I thought you hated shellfish. Why would you–”

“Because it’s Ryan Seacrest’s birthday,” Jeff Probst says as he walks out of the tribal council hut. Heiderich follows in his tracks. “And as you know, Heiderich, this is his favorite restaurant. I want to see the look on his face when he’s told the place is booked for the night.”

When they are gone, Roy turns to Riza with a smile.

“That was close,” he says.

Riza grabs her torch and stomps out of the tribal council hut. She smashes the head of her torch against the ground, forcibly smothering her flame. Roy stares after her with a heavy heart.

Olivier comes up next to him and asks, “Trouble in paradise?”

“She’s…” Roy is absolutely crestfallen. “She’s never just _ignored_ me like that.”

Olivier follows his gaze, and a smile crosses her own lips. Well, this is an interesting turn of events.

But, of course, she has to play it cool.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, she’s _your_ subordinate. You deal with her. She’ll be back on your coattails by sunrise.”

“You really think so?” Roy asks.

Riza shoves a branch out of her way with a growl and stalks out of view. Olivier can feel the disquiet rolling off of Roy in waves. It’s most satisfying. It really does take every ounce of willpower left inside of her not to laugh in his face.

“Absolutely,” she lies with feigned disgust. She walks away, harshly bumping Roy’s shoulder in the motion.

First Falman, then Havoc, and finally Lan Fan. Olivier’s made it somewhat of a sport, stealing Mustang’s allies and subordinates. And things _will_ be different by sunrise. Because like the rest, Riza Hawkeye will be _hers_.

___

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Jean Havoc**

“I wanted that money,” Havoc says somberly. “I was going to give Ria such a good life.” He balls his hand into a fist and meets the camera with sharp eyes. “But that’s not going to happen now. I can say a lot about the way I played the game. Sure, I have regrets. But betraying the colonel isn’t one of them. And I can’t wait until Jeff Probst puts his torch out for good.” 

___

Votes

 **Votes:  
** Ed: Jean Havoc  
Greed: Jean Havoc  
Riza: Jean Havoc  
Roy: Jean Havoc  
Havoc: Riza Hawkeye  
Lan Fan: Riza Hawkeye  
Olivier: Riza Hawkeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CANNOLI, YOU GUYS! It’s been far too long since this fic has been updated. I’m so sorry. I just started classes so these weeks have made writing a bit difficult, but I’m managing. Also sorry it takes so long to bring it to Ao3. Tumblr updates do come a lot faster with my fics ;__;
> 
> So, Riza is very unhappy with Roy at the moment. Is she going to get over it? Or will she jump ship? This late in the game, anything is possible.
> 
> Thank you for being patient with my slow updates! And I hope this made you laugh some. I’ve been dying to give Riza an actual spotlight and what better way than by throwing her on the chopping block? 
> 
> In regards to Lan Fan…I just really love her. I pick on everyone pretty remorselessly, given the nature of this crackfic, but whenever bad things happen to Lan Fan, even in the context of it being a slapstick comedy a lot of the time, I kind of stoke my screen and whisper, “Forgive me, my angel.” So I really really loved getting to have her call the shots and let her traitors have it. lol
> 
> AHH! I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE HAVING A WICKEDLY GREAT SEMESTER SO FAR!!! And an equally awesome night or day or whatever it is for you when you read this <3


	16. Episode 9 (Part 1)

That night, after the others have returned from tribal council and gone to sleep, Riza sits at the edge of Bradley’s palace moat, her legs hanging above the near-still water. Absently, she dangles Lan Fan’s spear over an alligator’s head, withdrawing it when he gets too close. For how long they continue this game, Riza can’t say. But she does develop a sort of fondness toward the reptile.

“You kind of remind me of the Colonel,” she says, swirling the spear around the gator’s head. “Kind of lazy, but vicious when provoked. Erratic. Cold blooded. Plus, now that he has all those bug bites, his skin really isn’t looking any better than yours.”

Riza stops to consider this analogy. The alligator is dangerous. A skilled predator. But so long as he’s trapped within his moat, he doesn’t have very much leeway to do anything. He’s a stunted sack of wasted potential, drifting along these looping currents, protecting something that probably isn’t even worth guarding.

“Huh,” says Riza. She chuckles. “Actually, maybe you’re more like me.”

* * *

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“My alliance with Mustang ends today,” Riza says. Through Chimera!Tucker’s night-vision lens, she has taken on a sickly green glow. “The longer I stay by his side, the closer I’m pushed to the edge of the chopping block. And perhaps as his bodyguard, I should be alright with that. But this isn’t an uncovered government conspiracy nor is it a life or death war against an immortal pseudo-god.”

She places her hands on her hips, determined. “This is _money_. A lot of money. Enough to buy a new car after that homunculus swallowed mine–which was, as it happens, also the Colonel’s fault.”

Riza looks past Tucker and toward the trees, under which Roy is curled up like a puppy, sleeping soundly. Her face crumples in disgust.

* * *

The next morning, Lan Fan finds Greed waist-deep in a hole by the edge of the moat. Cautiously, she tiptoes forward and asks, “Homunculus?”

An armload of sand flies out and into a massive pile that’s been accumulating for who knows how long. Lan Fan stares between it and Greed in question.

Greed looks back with a hiss. “If you’re going to stand there, get in and help.”

“What exactly are you doing?” She sidesteps another heap of sand that flies her way.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Greed asks, his voice muffled as he gets on his knees and disappears from Lan Fan’s view. “I’m digging an underground tunnel into the palace.”

Lan Fan’s eyebrows knit. “Wait, didn’t Mustang and Hawkeye–”

“Secure me a rope?” Greed springs to his feet, glaring. “Oh, yeah. They secured it, alright…”

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“At dawn, I climbed Hawkeye’s rope and made it to the balcony,” Greed says through his teeth. “And do you know what happened next?”

“Is this fanfic over yet?” Archer mumbles aloud, holding his flip phone camera up to Greed’s face. “I want to go home.”

“The glass doors,” Greed hisses, getting up and kicking his chair over, “were _bulletproof_.”

* * *

“…so,” Greed goes on, after filling Lan Fan in. “Once I decided I wouldn’t be able to get in through the windows or doors, I decided to do this the good old fashioned homunculus way and dig my way through. Now, are you going to help or not?”

Lan Fan only stares, dumbfounded as to why the young lord would allow such behavior. Perhaps the homunculus’s will is simply overpowering. After all, he’s concentrated every last ounce of his avarice on entering that palace.

 _Greed_ , says Ling with some irritability. _I haven’t had any page time in six chapters_.

“You’ll get page time once I make it into that palace and set Wrath’s bedroom on fire!” Greed yells.

Slowly, Lan Fan backs away.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“After being on the island for twenty one days,” says Lan Fan, “we’re all at the end of our ropes. However, for Greed…” She trails off, wincing as he lets out a frustrated howl from across the beach.

“I’m in this game for the Yao Clan,” she says. “If the young lord does not win, then I will. I only wish the island weren’t already beginning to corrode the homunculus’s mind. With six players left, we all need to be on guard.”

* * *

Around noon, Ed climbs a tree in the middle of the jungle to get away from his tribe mates. It’s do or die and he needs to start forming his game plan. After betraying Lan Fan and the General last night, he knows it may very well be his time to go if he doesn’t play his cards right. And as the main character, that’s not an outcome he’s willing to accept.

Besides, with two million cenz, he could probably _pay_ Truth to give Al and him their bodies back.

Ed runs his fingers through his hair, tilting his head back against the tree.

“Man,” he groans. “I’m really screwed.”

“Don’t say that, brother!” exclaims Heiderich, the upper half of his body falling upside down from a congregation of branches that hang over his head.  

Ed jumps, thereafter throwing his arms around the tree’s trunk in order to regain his balance. With a pounding heart, he looks up.

“Heiderich!” Ed hisses once the shock dissolves. “What the hell are you–”

“Regarding Riza Hawkeye,” he says, “I have a plan.”

“Whatever you’re–”

“Just trust me, brother.” Blood rushes to Heiderich’s head, turning it a rich shade of purple. He gives Ed a creepy, wide-eyed smile. “I won’t let you be voted off. You just leave everything to me.”

And just like that, Heiderich disappears, leaving Ed alone. He jumps to his feet, carefully balancing on his branch as he searches through the trees, but his fake brother is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Do I trust Heiderich?” Ed looks down with a shrug. “Well, it’s not like I have any other choice. I just hope he doesn’t do anything to tip Jeff Probst off about my cheating, or worse,” his eyes stretch open in horror, “do anything to tip CBS off about his smuggled food and oil. Those breakfast sandwiches are just too delicious to give up now. And I shouldn’t be expected to deal with that. I mean, I’m the Fullmetal Alchemist, not a goddamn caveman.”

* * *

“General?”

The forest is obscured by night, but due to the starlight that filters through the foliage, Riza is just able to make out silhouettes of the surrounding trees. She glances down at the note Olivier slipped into her pocket when the two brushed shoulders this morning.

 _Banana tree at midnight_.

Well, it’s midnight. And this is indeed a banana tree. Of course, there are several more in this jungle, but for plot convenience, we are to assume both Riza and Olivier know this to be the correct one.

Suddenly, the bushes rustle, and Olivier steps onto the silver-lit path with Lan Fan in tow. Riza straightens up, crushing the note in her fist.

“Why did you ask me here?” Riza starts forward, but Olivier raises a hand, signifying a desire for them to keep their distance.

“I don’t trust you, Hawkeye,” she says plainly. “After the way you’ve played, I’d be a fool to. But tonight, I learned that perhaps you and I may have a common enemy. And if you’re willing to cooperate, I believe that enemy can be taken down with ease.”

Riza thinks back to tribal council. She’d almost been voted off in favor of the Colonel. And he would have let her go with the same apathy he did Winry and Havoc. Allies he once protected, but ultimately found expendable.

“It’s every man’s game,” Riza says. “Two million cenz is a lot of money to be frivolous with.”

“You’re in an interesting position,” says Lan Fan, cutting to the chase. “The Colonel trusts you. Implicitly. Back on Red, he once told me with perfect surety that you would play this game however you needed to in order to protect him. And up until now, I’ve seen that to be true.”

Riza cringes. “He said _what_ now?”

“The three of us,” says Olivier matter-of-factly, “are the strongest on this island. Lan Fan and I can win the remaining physical challenges. And with Mustang and Edward on your side, you could have a lot of social power working with us.”

* * *

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“Of course I don’t intend to make Riza Hawkeye my ally,” Olivier says without hesitation. “And she is no fool. I’m not offering her a shot at victory. I’m offering Roy Mustang’s downfall on a silver platter. It’s something she’s either going to take or leave.” A grin spreads across her face. “After last night, it isn’t like she has very much of a choice.”

* * *

“What do you suppose I do about the Colonel?” Riza asks dubiously. Try as she might, she cannot deny he has ways of ensuring the elimination of those who oppose him. Anyone on the island can attest to that. Riza may be fed up, but she’s far from dumb.

“Nothing,” Olivier says. “You continue to be his loyal subordinate just like before. Then, come tribal council, we dispose of him.”

“You don’t think he’ll see this coming and counter attack?” Lan Fan places her hand on her hip, warily switching her gaze between the two soldiers. “Mustang is clever. He’s always one step ahead of us. And after the way the Lieutenant brushed him off at the last tribal council, even a fool would know her loyalty has wavered.”

“This is different,” Riza says. The longer she watches General Armstrong, the more possible this entire plan looks. Exhilaration sparks in her chest. She hasn’t felt this alive since she and Hayate watched the Amestrian Puppy Bowl. “The Colonel is wary to trust anyone but me. I could put a bullet through his hand and he’d believe I did it for his own benefit.”

Lan Fan accepts this with a nod. She goes on to ask, “Well, what about immunity? What happens in the event that he wins?”

Olivier snorts.

“I’m serious,” says Lan Fan. “After Havoc’s inexplicable comeback, anything is possible.”

“Well, let’s look at our options,” says Riza. “If it’s a strategy game, we can count on Edward. Anything physical, either one of us can win with ease. Possibly even Greed if he actually puts forth any effort. Though, now that the Fuhrer has been eliminated, he seems to lack any motivation.”

Lan Fan waves her hand. “No, he’s just focused on something else. He’s been digging that underground tunnel for twelve straight hours.” She crinkles her nose. “I shudder to imagine what he’s doing for sustenance down there.”

“I heard him gagging on sand at around hour four,” Riza says.

“That means nothing to me.” Olivier’s hands lock behind her back. She walks down the jungle’s path, her fabulous hair shimmering in the moonlight. “You leave Mustang to me. I’ll make sure he doesn’t win immunity.”

Lan Fan looks after her, puzzled. “Are you going to sabotage him?”

Olivier spits a laugh. “That won’t be necessary.” She turns around and smiles at Riza.

* * *

Some time after sunrise, Olivier shoves Edward awake. The tiny alchemist yelps in surprise and scrambles to his hands and knees with a sharp intake of breath. Wide golden eyes snap to the General’s.

“G-general,” Ed says breathlessly.

Olivier plucks him off the ground by the collar of his shirt and drags him away from his sleeping tribe mates. Ed starts to sputter in protest, but she shoves her buff into his mouth like a gag.

“Quiet!” she snaps.

Ed moans into the buff.

Though this plan seemed destined to fail, what with Edward’s track record of hopping from one alliance to the next, Hawkeye insisted he would not fail them.

 _Believe me_ , she’d said. _Edward will do whatever I say, no questions asked._

It’s dubious, but Olivier figures they could always vote against Edward if it calls for it.

When they make it into the jungle’s thick of trees, she sends him sprawling to the floor. He gasps for breath, wiping the saliva that has dribbled down his chin.

“What the hell was that?” he demands.

He looks up and realizes Lan Fan and Lieutenant Hawkeye tower over him. He twists around. Armstrong blocks his exit. The three women close in on him, and Ed shrinks under their scorching eyes.

“Edward,” Riza says. “You’re going to comply with whatever we say.”

The two exchange a knowing look that downright baffles Lan Fan, and leaves the General suspicious.

“I…” Ed is at a loss for breath.

Heiderich’s voice rings through his head. _Regarding Riza Hawkeye…I have a plan_.

If he can trust his fake brother, he needs only to bide his time. Until then, he has no choice but to humor her.

“Sure,” Ed concedes. Carefully, he looks up at the General. “What is it that you need?”

* * *

That afternoon, Riza takes a deep breath. The Colonel sits by the shore, looking absolutely pitiful. He plants a leaf into pile of sand he’s built all on his own, then sighs when a gust of wind carries it away.

She takes a seat beside him, staring out toward the shore, hoping it makes her look contemplative, when in reality, the thought of looking into his stupid, lying eyes fills her with disgust.

“Hey,” Riza says.

“Hey,” Roy replies.

The two sit in silence for what feels like hours. Finally, Riza speaks up. But the moment she does, Roy speaks over her.

“About last night–”

“Lieutenant, I’m–”

They both chuckle. Riza dies a little inside.

“You go first,” says Roy. He brings his knees up and faces her.

Riza can feel his gaze burning her skin. She takes an even breath before looking at him and forces a smile

“Colonel, I was out of line,” she tells him, the words burning her tongue as they cross it. “I suppose being so close to elimination flustered me. I apologize for any inappropriate behavior.”

Roy deflates, presumably releasing a breath he’d been holding. He leans back with a grin.

“Well, it’s about time you apologized,” he says, shaking his head. “You really can’t let these things get to you. I can’t have my adjutant falling apart under pressure.”

Riza’s skin crawls. Her left eye begins to twitch. The forced smile cramps her face. “Y-yes, sir. You’re absolutely right.”

“I’m going to continue to allow you to watch my back,” he says, lacing his fingers behind his head. “But you have to strengthen your resolve.”

She’d give anything to punch him. Just one punch. Straight in the teeth.

She takes another deep breath and counts to thirty.

“You watch, Lieutenant,” Roy says. “You and I will sit side by side at the final tribal council.”

“I’m glad we had this talk, Colonel,” Riza says. She rises to her feet, brushing sand off her legs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go, uh, sew Greed’s pants.”

“His pants?” Roy asks.

“Yeah, he tore them while digging his tunnel. And as you know, I already have enough enemies as is. I’d like to keep him on our side.”

“Oh,” says Roy. He smiles. “Wow, good thinking.”

“Yeah.” Riza backs away. “So…I’ll be doing that for the remainder of the evening. Actually, I’ll be doing that until the immunity challenge tomorrow. See, it’s a _really_ bad tear.”

“Wait…the whole day?” Roy lifts a curious brow. “Doesn’t that seem a little excessive?” He narrows his eyes, studying her face. Perhaps to find a crack in her disposition that would tip him off to any suspicious behavior.

Riza blanches, searching for an exit.

_Quick, Riza, think. You know this man better than you know yourself. What’s the one thing that would–_

“Sir,” Riza blurts out, startling them both. She sheepishly curls her toes into the sand and hides her trembling fists behind her back. “Have you gotten a tan?”

The skepticism falls away at once. He stares at her. “What?”

“Just…” She takes a breath. “You, uh…it looks nice. Your tan.”

A blush spreads across his face. He grins, touching his burning cheek. “As a matter of fact, I have. Thanks for noticing.”

Riza bites her tongue hard enough to taste blood.

Roy combs his hair back from his forehead, gazing into Riza’s eyes. It’s all she can do not to claw his out with her fingernails.

Suddenly, he shakes his head, his fleeting train of thought already disappearing. He frowns at Riza. “What were we talking about again?”

“Just how the two of us make an unstoppable team,” she quickly supplies. “And how I’ll follow you into Hell. Or whatever.”

“Right,” says Roy. “You and I, Lieutenant, we’re thick as thieves.”

“Indeed. Thick as thieves, sir.”

“Two peas in a pod.”

“Sure.”

“Soulmates. Passionate lovers.”

“Yes, I–” She stops short. “I’m sorry, what?”

Roy looks dreamily toward the horizon. “In a game designed to bring out the worst in us, at least I know things between us will never change.”

* * *

##  **// IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //**

“Come on in, guys!” Jeff Probst yells. He sits in an anchored canoe alongside Alfons Heiderich who winks at Ed. Ed smiles awkwardly in his direction before quickly averting his eyes.

The castaways, all standing atop a platform in the ocean, look at one another in question.

“But we’re already here,” says Ed.

“Don’t talk back to your elders!” Jeff Probst snaps.

Heiderich opens his mouth to defend his brother, but appears to think better of it and remains quiet.

Jeff Probst grins, lounging back. When the canoe rocks, Heiderich gasps.

“Final six,” says Jeff Probst.

“Why are you in a canoe?” Greed asks, ignoring him completely. The others murmur with similar inquiry.

Jeff Probst waves his hand in dismissal. “That’s not important. Now, for today’s–”

He’s cut off by a loud crunch, then a yelp courtesy of Riza. Everyone looks her way and sees that a plank of wood has given way beneath her. She remains on the platform by her hands and one knee while her other leg has disappeared into the hole.

“Lieutenant!” Roy cries. He grabs her by the arms and hoists her to her feet. When she regains her balance, she glares at Jeff Probst.

Lan Fan traces the edge of an adjacent plank with her toe and asks, “Is this platform sturdy?”

“This doesn’t look safe,” Ed adds with a swallow.

“For today’s challenge,” Jeff Probst says rather quickly, “You’re going to stand on a very small, tilted platform while leaning back and holding onto a rope. Every few minutes, you’re going to move your grip farther and farther down the rope. When you fall into the water, you’re out of the challenge. Whoever stays on the longest wins immunity. Simple enough?”

Ed looks back. Indeed, there are six parallel beams rising from the platform, each fastened to a rope that hangs above the water. The smaller platforms that bridge out from the edge of the one they stand on now somehow manage to look even more precarious.

“Olivier, I’ll be taking immunity back,” says Jeff Probst. He nudges Heiderich who, on wobbly legs, stands up and jumps overboard. He swims to the platform to take the immunity necklace from Olivier Armstrong, and then return it to Jeff Probst.

Jeff Probst inches away from Heiderich’s dripping body and, with a cringe, says, “Immunity is back up for grabs…so, let’s draw for spots and get started.”

* * *

Just Riza’s luck, she ended up on the platform right beside Roy. On the bright side, Edward stands to her other side, which means she can shoot him and intimidating glance or two should he start to second guess the plan.

“For immunity!” Jeff Probst yells. “Survivors ready?”

“Jeff Probst’s skin looks suspiciously radiant,” Olivier mutters under her breath.

“I like this rope,” says Greed, gripping the rope above its highest knot. He leans back experimentally, the small platform tilting under his feet.  

Roy searches for Riza’s eyes in order to have a silent pep talk, but she pointedly fixes her gaze in front of her. And if he’s not mistaken, her jaw looks rather clenched.

“Go!” Jeff Probst says. And the castaways all lean back.

Lan Fan watches Greed from her peripheral. Though his indestructible body is less prone to fatigue than the rest of them, she has to wonder whether or not digging that tunnel for days straight has taken a toll on the young lord. She grips her rope with one arm and looks away, channeling her focus on this challenge.

Ed stares at his hands. His flesh knuckles are white from all the strain he puts on them. He knows he won’t last long, what with his automail being nearly useless as only two loose fingers remain. He closes his eyes, focusing on better things. Like the eggs benedict Heiderich left by their special meeting spot today in the forest. Those were tasty.

Riza tightens her grip on the rope and casts a furtive glance at Roy. He looks calm and collected. In fact, the way the sunlight glitters across his skin, he actually looks _handsome_. Riza bites her tongue again, reminding herself of the bug bites blistering his abdomen.

“Everyone holding on,” says Jeff Probst. He shifts in his seat, prompting Heiderich to jump. Suddenly, a portion of the canoe dips underwater, and Jeff Probst screams.

“No!” he gasps. He flails wildly. “Heiderich! Heiderich, off the boat! It’s our combined weight!”

“What?” Heiderich peers over the edge of the canoe. “Jeff Probst, we’re fine. It was only because I almost–”

“You _know_ my skin cannot be exposed to any moisture for at least sixteen hours! That treatment cost me this challenge’s budget!”

Heiderich frowns. “Is that why the platform is rotted and one of the ropes is frayed?”

And just like that, Olivier’s rope snaps and she falls backwards, making a heavy splash into the water. She breaks the surface with a gasp, violently flipping her hair back.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demands.

“Olivier Armstrong out of the challenge!” Jeff Probst says.

She’s about to protest when Lan Fan speaks up instead.

“General,” she says stoically. “Worry not.”

Olivier looks up. Lan Fan’s eyes are shut in concentration, but she directs a subtle nod toward the General. Olivier’s eyes then go to Riza, whose lip quirks in what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

With one final glare aimed at Edward–one that says, _don’t screw this up_ –Olivier swims back to the platform, splashing water at Roy’s legs in the process.

He shifts in his place from alarm but he quickly regains his balance, then smiles.

 _Curses_ , Riza thinks, closing her fingers more firmly.

“Time to make this a little more challenging,” says Jeff Probst. He quickly dabs his face with a towel provided by a nearby rescue dingy with Hohenheim of Light at its wheel. “Move down one knot and from this moment on, everyone is to hold on with only _one_ hand.”

Lan Fan cracks an eye open and scowls.

Greed looks incredulous. “What do we look like to you, Probst? A bunch of–”

 _You have an immortal body_ , Ling says to him. _You can do this with ease_.

“It’s the principle of the thing, you know!” Greed snaps. “Nobody tells me what to do! Not on _my_ platform.”

If Ling had control of his body, he’d drag a hand down his face. Instead, he remains quiet and allows Greed to continue seeking negative attention.

Riza keeps her eyes on Roy while she moves down and leans farther back on the platform, her free hand dangling by her side.

Roy feels her eyes on him and a blush comes to his face. He smiles sheepishly and says, “Hi, Lieutenant.”

Riza faces forward, away from his affectionate look. “Hi, sir.”

“Your hair shines like gold in the sunlight,” he tells her.

Riza cringes inwardly. She hasn’t washed her hair in almost a month. Whatever color her hair is right now, it’s certainly not gold.

Flatly, she replies, “Thank you, Colonel.” Her gaze catches a seagull circling their heads. She almost wishes for it to come down and peck her eyes out. Actually, she’d much prefer that fate for the Colonel. She allows the image of that to placate her. Without realizing it, she starts to smile, her hand beginning to slip. She quickly regains her hold, her heartbeat skipping.

“Riza, almost out of this!” Jeff Probst says.

“I…” Riza squeezes her eyes shut. Until the Colonel’s torch flame is snuffed, she realizes she may never have a real shot at success. Even now he’s getting to her.

Olivier, now seated on the platform, sees a tangle of seaweed drifting along the current. An idea strikes her. She scoops it out and holds it out in front of her.

“Greed,” she says. “This seaweed is mine.”

Greed’s eyes lock on hers. Ling braces himself for an outburst that never comes. His eyes follow the seaweed as it dangles from her fingertips.

“It’s mine,” Olivier goes on, “But I’ll give it to you if you come get it.”

 _Greed, no_ , says Ling. _It’s a trick_.

“But…” Adrenaline courses through Greed’s veins. “I want it.”

 _It’s just seaweed. There’s a ton of it at camp. Do_ not _let go of this rope, Greed!_

Greed laughs, tightening his hold on the rope. “Listen, lady, if you think I’m going to fall for–”

“Fine,” says Olivier with a shrug. “Have it your way, homunculus.” She swings the seaweed back to toss it back into the ocean but stops when Greed makes the impulsive decision to leap from his platform and into the water.

Lan Fan watches in disbelief as the homunculus advances toward the platform, snatching the seaweed from Armstrong’s hands. He tightens his fist around it.

“Hahahaha!” He swings it around over his head. “Whose seaweed is it now?”

“Greed is out of the challenge!” says Jeff Probst.

Ed shakes his head, still gaping. “Unbelievable.”

“To the remaining four players,” says Jeff Probst, “move down, past the final knot. All you’ll be holding onto now is the end of the rope. Let’s see who can stay in this.”

In order to move down the rope, Ed needs to use his automail hand to keep his balance, however, the moment he attempts this, another finger snaps off and sinks to the bottom of the ocean. With a yelp, Ed falls backwards and into the water, making a tiny splash.

“Edward out of the challenge!” Jeff Probst says.

Riza and Lan Fan trap him in their expectant gazes. Now is his moment to shine. Should he fail, this could be the end for him.

Ed swallows and swims to Mustang’s side. Roy peers down at him, puzzled.

“Fullmetal?” he asks. “What are you– _AUGHH_!”

Ed begins throwing handfuls of salt water into Roy’s face. From the corner of his eye, he spots a clump of seaweed floating along. For good measure, he hurls that too.

Stunned, Roy begins to cough, his grip loosening. Riza and Lan Fan look at each other, mirroring smiles on each of their faces. Could this be…?

“Take that, you bastard!” Ed trills, splashing Roy straight in the eyes.

Roy spits a mouthful of seaweed and salt water onto his shirtfront, and then yells, “Stop! _Stop_ , I can’t see!”

“This is for calling me a runt back in Episode 6!” says Ed, throwing more seaweed. “And _this_ is for that time you made me do your paperwork back at Eastern Command!”

Heiderich looks worriedly at Jeff Probst, but the host doesn’t appear to be paying attention to the challenge. Instead, he’s playing Snake on Archer’s flip phone.

“If Brother gets too heated,” Heiderich murmurs to himself, “he may perform an impulsive transmutation.” He gasps. “Right in front of Jeff Probst! He’ll be disqualified for sure!”

He tugs on Jeff Probst’s sleeve. “Sir! My brother is out of the challenge! We need to get him on the platform!”

Jeff Probst looks up from his game of snake, which causes him to lose. He snarls at Heiderich.

“Please,” Heiderich says quietly.

Jeff Probst sighs in exasperation and yells, “Edward, on the platform! You’re out of this challenge!”

The smiles vanish from Riza and Lan Fan’s faces. Horrified, they turn to Jeff Probst, who unhappily tosses the flip phone over his shoulder and into the water. Greed lunges for it but Olivier yanks him back.

“B-but!” Ed stammers. “I–”

“Quit acting like a brat, Fullmetal,” says Roy with an eyeroll. “Out of the water.”

Lan Fan’s moment of distraction causes her sweaty hand to slip. She flails for a moment before hitting the water.

“Lan Fan out of the challenge!” Jeff Probst says.

Lan Fan sends an angry splash Mustang’s way, but swims to the platform wordlessly. She was certain she was going to have to be the one to win this challenge. Her sharp eyes snap to Riza.

It’s up to the Lieutenant now.

Riza closes her eyes and focuses. All she has to do is outlast the Colonel. If she wins immunity, that guarantees her safety and his demise. She can do this. She can _do_ this. She’s Riza Hawkeye, for fuck’s sake. The best marksman in Amestris. A survivor of war. The reason Amestris even has a Flame Alchemist. Hell, when she met one of the most deranged serial killers to ever live, he fell in _love_ with her. Plus, she was the only member of Team Mustang to get a speaking role in the Sacred Star of Milos movie–besides Breda’s worthless cameo. But, honestly, who even _cares_ about Breda?

 _Focus_. She takes a deep breath. _It’s just a televised challenge. You’ve survived much worse. A broken home, terrible war, watching the Colonel grow his first mustache back when he was Dad’s apprentice._

“It’s down to Roy and Riza,” says Jeff Probst. “Flame and Hawk’s Eye.” He pauses, then chuckles to himself. “Like Shay’s username.”

“Jeff Probst, who is Shay?” Heiderich asks.

“She’s writing this ongoing RoyAi fic at the moment called Hellbound,” he explains brightly. “Heiderich, it’s wonderful, just–”

“Can we get back to the challenge?” Ed growls, dragging his sopping wet body up to the platform. He wrings out his dripping hair. “I want to leave.” He makes sure to bore his gaze into Heiderich’s when he says, “Plus, I’m _hungry_.”

Heiderich draws in a breath, making a mental note to provide his brother with food at some point before the next tribal council. If the challenge ends soon, he might just be able to steal something from the CBS lunch buffet. Perhaps a tuna melt. His brother would _love_ a tuna melt.

“Lieutenant,” says Roy gruffly, his knuckles going white. “You’ll be safe from tonight’s vote. Just let go.”

Riza grits her teeth, her arm starting to shake from exhaustion.

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” she forces out. “So why don’t you lead and I follow? Like always.”

They lock eyes for another one of their silent conversations. If Riza is lucky, this may be their last.

Roy: _I don’t know why you’re doing this. I told you I’d take us to the end._

Riza: _For as long as we’ve been together, you don’t trust me? Just let go, Colonel._

Roy: _Of course I trust you._

Roy tightens his free hand into a fist. His heart begins to race.

Roy: _If you’re still mad about Tribal Council–_

Riza: _Sir, we went over this. I was in the wrong._

Roy: _I_ know _that, Lieutenant. Obviously. I mean, your behavior was abominable. But how am I supposed to know you’re not over it?_

Riza closes her eyes. She counts to ten.

Riza: _Will you just trust me? Tell you what. If you throw the challenge right now, I’ll leave your command and we can get married._

Roy falters, nearly slipping off his platform.

Did she just?

No way.

No _way_ he read that correctly.

“What?” he asks out loud.

Riza pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand, swallowing the bile that’s collected in the back of her throat.

“Y-yes,” she says, looking away, hoping she comes off as smitten and sheepish. “I…want this if you do.” As an afterthought, she adds, “Roy.”

Blushing profusely, Roy mulls this over. All he has to do is throw the challenge. And then…then he and Hawkeye will be canonized. She’ll be his wife. He’ll be able to touch her beautiful blond hair every day. She might even bear his children.

But…

He looks down at his clenched fist.

To relinquish the power he has for something so trivial? Is it worth it? Roy looks up to meet her eyes.

“Riza,” he begins, then stops himself. She flinches.

 _Immunity is power_. He bites his lip. _Riza Hawkeye…or power. Which is more important to me?_

Riza gasps, her grip slipping. “Colonel, please decide quickly.”

Roy starts to sweat. He can’t help but find this ultimatum somewhat comparable to, say, watching her bleed out unless he performs human transmutation.

Ha. Now wouldn’t _that_ be something.

(Being that this is the second reference to that scene in this fanfic, one can only conclude the author has watched it several hundred times.)

His face darkens and he ducks his head, unable to meet her eyes when he says, “I won’t…I won’t sacrifice immunity.”

Riza’s hand goes slack, unable to hold on any longer. As she falls, she stares daggers at Roy, but he refuses to look at her while she splashes into the water.

Jeff Probst jumps to his feet, throwing his arms in the air, smacking Heiderich in the process. The boy tumbles off the canoe and into the water with a screech.

Jeff Probst grimaces, furiously dabbing his face with his towel.

“Uh,” he sidesteps a puddle. “Roy Mustang wins immunity.”

Olivier and Lan Fan simmer. Ed hides his face in his knees, wondering just how bad the penalty for using alchemy on the island is–because if tonight’s vote goes to Hawkeye, no way she doesn’t expose him in front of Jeff Probst and the jury.

Greed doesn’t seem to be paying any attention at all, what with his body hanging off the edge of the platform as he fishes for the inoperative flip phone.

Grinning, Roy extends his arms, falling backwards into the water. He then swims to the platform. Only after Heiderich drags the canoe close enough does Jeff Probst place the immunity necklace around Roy’s neck.

“Roy,” says Jeff Probst, “You are safe from tonight’s vote.”

“Thanks, Jeff Probst,” he says. “You know, I think it’s about time people around here started showing me…” he stops when he notices no one is listening. He looks down at his toes sadly.

Riza casts a careful glance toward her temporary allies. They wear matching looks of pure hatred. Riza looks away.

* * *

Confessional: Riza Hawkeye

She lets out a long breath, silently processing the events of today.

“It appears this might be it for me,” she says. “With the Colonel safe from tonight’s vote…the target will likely shift to _my_ back.

“But this isn’t over,” she goes on. “Not by a long shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it’s taken forever. Thank you to everyone who has left reviews too!!!! <3


	17. Episode 9 (Part 2)

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong  
**

“Am I unhappy with the outcome of the challenge?” Olivier kicks a leg over her knee and lounges back. “In a word: yes.”

* * *

 

She and Lan Fan break off from the others the moment the tribe returns to camp. They walk along the shore, visibly ruffled.

“This doesn’t even require a discussion,” says Olivier. “Our move is Hawkeye.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Lan Fan rubs at the skin surrounding her broken automail’s metal plating. “But aren’t you worried about her shifting to the Colonel’s side? If she and Edward vote with him and somehow manage to convince the homunculus--”

“Of course I’ve considered the possibility.” Olivier flips her hair over her shoulder. Somehow, inexplicably, it remains perfectly coiffed. Even today, on Day twenty three.

* * *

 

Lan Fan frowns, pulling a spider out of her own limp hair.

“Rest assured, Hawkeye will not counter attack,” says Olivier. “This time, Mustang doesn’t have the numbers to his advantage.”

* * *

 

A parcel from Heiderich feels heavy in Ed’s pocket. Right before leaving the challenge course today, Ed’s fake brother slipped it into his possession, to the blissful ignorance of Jeff Probst and the castaways.

He waits for an opening, when his tribemates are preoccupied with strategizing, to evasively enter the jungle and open it.

He tears the packaging away and observes the travel sized bottles of luxury shampoo and conditioner alongside a miniature tube of coconut oil, all bound by a rubber band. Ed turns the gift around in his hand until he finds a note tucked in between the two bottles. He plucks it out and reads

_Brother,_

_I know it must be difficult having the best hair on the island, not being able to upkeep it. So please accept this very expensive hair care kit. Only the best for my brother._

_Love,_

_A.H  
(Your brother.)_

 

Ed sighs, getting down on his knees and extracting the dry twigs he’d grabbed from camp earlier to start a fire. A flame sparks to life. He burns both the packaging and Heiderich’s note.

* * *

 

**Confessional: Edward Elric  
**

Ed unscrews the shampoo bottle’s cap on camera and takes a whiff.

“It smells like peppermint.” He closes it and tucks it into his pocket. “Personally, I’m not a fan. But I can’t really complain. At any rate, shampoo is the least of my worries right now.”

* * *

 

After diving into the ocean to thoroughly wash his hair--biting back moans of utter euphoria the entire time--Ed finishes the process off with coconut oil for softness and sets out to save his skin.

Figuratively, of course. His actual skin is doing pretty well ever since Heiderich gave him that tub of shea butter last week.

* * *

 

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“You’d have to be an idiot to not think Lieutenant Hawkeye is on the chopping block tonight,” says Ed. “And, like it or not, my fate is intertwined with hers. The only objective today is to keep her safe--and by extension of far more importance, myself.”

* * *

 

 

Ed finds the Colonel spread eagle in the middle of the beach, directly under vertical sunlight. Seashells are placed over his eyes as a sort of protectant. Ed cringes.

“Colonel,” he says, kicking his side with his metal leg.

Roy springs up, his seashells falling to his lap. He glares at Ed, but for a moment, Ed’s total judgment has overshadowed pretty much anything else he’d been thinking prior to this moment.

“What are you even doing?” he asks.

“I’m working on my tan,” Roy says irritably. “What do you want?”

“Working on your--”

“Look!” Roy waves exasperatedly. “It’s not like I get much sun at Eastern Command, what with me working behind a desk all the time. I mean, I’m the Flame Alchemist and I’m sickly pale. I’m only taking advantage.”

“The Lieutenant complimented you, didn’t she?”

“What did you want, Fullmetal?” he all but growls.

“Uh…” Ed shakes his head, opting to just be thankful the Colonel was at the very least fully clothed. “Well, I came to talk about tonight’s elimination.”

“Oh,” says Roy. “We obviously need to go for Lan Fan. She’s no longer on our side, that much is infinitely clear. Plus, it’s only a matter of time before she wins immunity. With her skill, it’s been an incident of sheer luck that she hasn’t already.”

Ed shakes his head. No, that won’t do. If Armstrong and Lan Fan happen to coax Greed to their side, the vote will be split down the middle. In such an event, the entire tribe sans Mustang will be forced to draw stones and then Ed will have a two in six shot of being eliminated, either alone or with Hawkeye.

Ed does not like those odds.

“Or,” says Ed, raising a finger. “ _Or,_ Colonel, we can vote out General Armstrong.”

Roy arches an eyebrow. “Why would we do that? I mean, I suppose we have to get rid of her eventually. But she’s only dangerous so long as she has more allies than me, which she does not, even _if_ Greed chooses to be on her side this chapter.”

“Right,” says Ed. “But she has two things Lan Fan does not have.” He counts off on his flesh fingers, as those are the only fingers he has left apart from his remaining automail one. “An immunity win and friends on the jury. The General is a definite threat as far as physical challenges go. Plus, she’s kept a low profile this entire time. She hasn’t pissed a single member of the jury off. I mean, even the Major would vote in her favor despite her blindsiding him.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Roy says, rising to his feet. He chuckles, bumping his knuckles to Ed’s shoulder. “Good plan, Fullmetal. That may actually save Hawkeye tonight.”

Ed sighs with relief. He scratches the back of his still-wet head. “That was the plan. You, me, and the Lieutenant in the end. Right, Colonel?”

“Right,” says Roy. He smiles. “Well, I’ll fill Hawkeye in and we’ll go on from there. You make sure to get Greed’s vote through whatever means necessary. If we can prevent a tie and guarantee Armstrong’s elimination, that would be ideal.” He starts to walk away, but stops. He turns around, sniffing curiously.

“Do I smell…” Roy sniffs again, his nose wrinkling in disbelief, “ _Peppermint_?”

“I’m going to go talk to Greed!” Ed exclaims a bit quickly. He shuffles away. “We’ll converge before tribal, Colonel! Good talk!”

Roy looks around, disoriented. Softly, he replies, “Y-yeah...yeah, I guess…” He shakes his head, and murmurs to himself, “and...coconut oil?”

* * *

 

Ed hears Greed yell from across the beach. He jumps back in alarm, watching him fell to his knees from a distance.

Ed approaches with caution, stopping beside a pile of sand almost as tall as himself.

“Greed?” Ed asks.

“Alright, _who did it_?” Greed demands. He jumps to his feet and shoves Ed out of his way. “Who _filled_ my tunnel?”

That’s when Ed notices the sand is piled directly over where Greed’s tunnel once began. He slowly backs away.

“This might be a bad time,” Ed begins. “But I wanted to--”

“I’ll bet it was Wrath’s orangutans.” Greed lets out a sharp, humorless laugh that sends a chill down Ed’s spine. “ _Oh_ , those furry little slaves don’t know when--”

“Alright, listen!” Ed shouts, growing impatient. “I’m sorry about your underground tunnel that was destined to fail anyway, but this is far more important! If you win Survivor, you could buy a bulldozer to plow your way into this palace.”

Greed pushes Ed in the center of his chest. He falls against the sand breathlessly.

“I’m not going to let a peppermint-scented pipsqueak tell _me_ what’s important,” Greed says, kicking Ed over.

“Who are you calling a pipsqueak?” Ed wheezes. “Besides, if you’re so greedy, maybe you’d consider hearing me out! I have something you may want!”

Greed refrains from kicking him again. Curiously, he squats, peering down at Ed.

“You’re going to give me something?” Greed asks.

Ed sits up, picking bits of sand out of his newly-washed hair. “More like repair something you already have.” He nods at his pocket. “I know you took Archer’s flip phone, and I also know it’s damaged. Well, I can have it working again with a simple transmut--”

“Oh no you don’t, kid!” Greed says. He straightens up, laughing. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you perform alchemy for me while we’re still in the game. I can live with a broken phone. But if Jeff Probst finds out, you and I are _both_ done for.”

“Consider this, then,” Ed tries, fueled by his desperation. “If you vote with me, I’ll give you more screentime in the canon.”

Greed shakes his head. “Make me the main character.”

“Whoa, now,” says Ed, raising his palms. “Let’s not get rash.”

“I’ll vote with you if you step aside and make _me_ the main character,” Greed settles with. He crosses his arms. “And I get to be the one to kill Bradley.”

“But...it’s only symbolic that Scar does it,” Ed says with a frown.

Greed scoffs. “Look at all the fucks I give about symbolism. I want to be the main and title character, take down Bradley, and conquer the world. I really don’t think I’m asking for a lot here, brat.”

Ed pauses to weigh out the pros and cons. Okay, so if Greed becomes the main character, Ed probably won’t have to do nearly as much work on the Promised Day. He’ll likely be safer. And life with automail isn’t _awful_ , all things considered. But then there’s Al.

Main characters of shounen anime always achieve their dreams.

Supporting characters are the ones who represent the sacrifices that must be made in war.

If Ed demoted Al to a supporting character, just to win Survivor…

But then, he hears Mustang’s voice from earlier.

 _Through whatever means necessary_.

Begrudgingly, Ed shakes his head. “I won’t do it, Greed. I won’t be reduced to comic relief.”

Greed shrugs. “What a shame. Well, kid, I guess I’ll see you at tribal council. We have nothing left to discuss.”

Greed walks away, kicking sand in Ed’s face in the motion.

* * *

 

Riza is on edge the entire afternoon. She retreats to the jungle, perched up in a tree, shooting pebbles at whichever life forms scuttle across the floor. At the very least, she’ll be able to eat real meat tonight.

 

* * *

 

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“The challenge did not go as it was supposed to,” Riza says. “And I knew the Colonel’s victory, as slim as the chance was, would result in my own demise. It was a gamble I had no choice but to take. So now...I’m running out of options.” She sighs. “On the bright side, that also means I have nothing left to lose.”

* * *

 

Riza skewers a cooked rabbit with a stick she found lying around. She finds Lan Fan on the beach and offers it to her.

Lan Fan studies the rabbit through narrowed eyes.

“It’s not poisoned,” Riza says, a bit irritated. She takes a bite, chews, and swallows. “See? Completely safe.”

Lan Fan looks away with feigned indifference, but her growling stomach betrays her. Begrudgingly, she takes the stick from Riza’s hand.

“Thank you,” she mutters, tearing off a piece with her teeth.

“I’m not going to tell you how to vote tonight,” Riza says. “I know you’re voting for me. I’d do the same in your position.”

“Are you here to apologize about my arm?” Lan Fan asks, swallowing a large chunk of meat. “Are you hoping it will change my mind?”

“No,” says Riza. “And you know that. Whether or not you want to see it, you and I are very much alike.”

“Except the man I’m guarding is no snake,” Lan Fan points out.

Riza makes a face. “Your charge literally fused with the embodiment of avarice the moment you left him alone.”

Lan Fan sighs. “That’s fair.”

“You don’t like me,” says Riza, without offense, only certainty. “But I’m sure it’s no secret that the jury doesn’t either. Perhaps if I’d played on my own, or allied with Rebecca instead of the Colonel things would be different. Unfortunately, there isn’t a single person on that bench who would vote in my favor should I make it to the final two. Colonel Mustang is the only person left who I can beat.”

Lan Fan stares in confusion. “Wait, who is Rebecca?”

“It’s not important,” says Riza, because the memory of that player is hazy, even to her. “What I’m saying is, I know I’m not going to win Survivor. At this point, it’s only about ensuring that the Colonel doesn’t either. So if you all decide to come after me tonight, I need you to promise me that you’ll win the next immunity challenge, Lan Fan, and end him.”

Lan Fan matches the intensity of Riza’s gaze. Without averting her eyes, she nods.

“I promise,” she says.

Riza sighs, closing her eyes. Then, a smile touches her lips. “That brings me peace.”

“But,” says Lan Fan, and Riza opens her eyes. “Lieutenant...why are you telling me this? After the way we’ve sabotaged each other in this game…”

Riza chuckles. “Because I like you. I liked you in the canon and I like you here. I was a part of your sabotage because you were a threat. It was never personal. Should the jury vote come down to you and anyone left over, you will have my support.”

Riza stands up, allowing Lan Fan to eat and ponder on her own. She starts to leave, but Lan Fan calls after her.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye!”

Riza turns.

Lan Fan smiles crookedly. “In any other circumstance, I would consider you a friend. All things considered, it has been a pleasure to oppose you in this game.”

Smiling, Riza salutes her. The gesture is playful. No matter the outcome tonight, Riza has done all she could. She made it this far. Perhaps that is enough.

* * *

 

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“It’s definitely not enough,” Riza says. “But I can put my faith in the Colonel. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he will continue to be the insufferable parasyte he has been since day one. No matter what happens after tonight, he will not win Survivor. So although I’m going down tonight, and Edward alongside me, at least Roy Mustang will not play me for a fool.”

* * *

 

As the sun is setting and the castaways are preparing to depart for tribal council, Roy stops by Olivier’s campsite. She is seated on the ground, sharpening a makeshift dagger with a seashell. Roy looks down, a smile tugging his lips.

“General,” he says.

She doesn’t look up, only scrapes the edge of her wooden dagger more furiously.

Roy sighs sardonically, setting his hands on his hips. “Oh, come on. You’re not even going to allow me the honor of looking at your lovely face?”

“You have ten seconds to make yourself scarce if you don’t want your balls to be served as dinner tonight,” she snaps.

He chuckles easily. “Major General, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were displeased with me.”

“Really, now.” She still doesn’t look up. The sound of shell scraping wood is deafening. “What might have tipped you off?”

Roy watches Olivier through lidded eyes. It takes at least a full minute of his gaze burning her skin for her to drop her hands and meet his eyes.

“Care to tell me what you’re still doing here?” she asks.

“I just wanted to observe you,” Roy replies with a shrug. “Memorize your beauty as it may just be the very last time I’ll be able to on this island.”

Olivier laughs. She returns to her sharpening. “Is that what you believe?”

“I think you’d know better than to doubt me at this point,” Roy says. “After all, I’ve personally seen to each and every one of your allies’ place on the jury bench.”

* * *

 

**Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“Mustang deeply unsettles me,” says Olivier. “But that is only because stupidity is its own danger. Let it be known that I am not afraid of nor intimidated by him.”

* * *

 

“And is this your way of telling me I’m to join them?” Olivier asked, bemused. “It’s so direct. Hardly your style.”

“You’re not just any opponent,” he explains.

He crouches down to meet her at eye level. Olivier almost wishes to cringe away from his foul stench of failure, but she remains as she is.

“See,” he says in a near-whisper, “You and I are from the same tribe. You’ve wanted to get rid of me from the very beginning. And yet, here we both are, in the final six. The immunity necklace is around _my_ neck.” His grin widens. “I cannot let one second of your downfall go to waste. I want to see every last emotion dance in those beautiful eyes, Armstrong, as your reality sets in.”

“About that...”

Olivier and Roy’s heads snap up at the sound of a new voice. They see Edward Elric meekly making his way over. He rubs his arm uncomfortably.

“We may need a plan B, Colonel,” Ed mumbles.

Roy raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I...uh…” Ed laughs. “So, we might not have Greed on our side after all.”

Roy jumps to his feet and yells, “What!?”

Olivier smirks, shoving her dagger into the waistband of her pants and standing up.

“Fullmetal, you were told to procure that alliance by _whatever_ means necessary!” Roy scolds. “What the hell happened?”

“I did everything I could!” Ed says. “Even offered him more screen time but he just wouldn’t budge!”

Roy shakes his head. “That can’t be!” Desperately, he asks, “Well, did he ask for anything else? Give you some sort of ultimatum?”

“No,” says Ed immediately.

Roy narrows his eyes.

“Honest!” Ed brings his hand to his heart. “I was willing to submit to any of his demands!”

* * *

 

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

Ed scoffs. “Please. Like I was going to tell Colonel Egotist about Greed’s offer. It’d be easy for _him_ to give up my main character slot. He’s not even in the Liore or Youswell portions of the manga!”

* * *

 

“This is _bad_ , Fullmetal,” Roy groans, massaging his temples.

Olivier walks away, leaving the two alchemists alone. Over her shoulder, she says, “Finish this quickly! We have a tribal council to attend!”

Suddenly, a lightbulb flashes on in Ed’s brain.

“WAIT!” Ed exclaims. He snaps his fingers repeatedly. “I have an idea!”

Roy swats Ed’s hand away. The kid already dethroned him as the youngest state alchemist to ever live. He will _not_ take snapping away from him too.

“Out with it,” says Roy.

“You have immunity,” says Ed. He gestures at Roy. “Well...if you gave it to Hawkeye, she’d be safe from tonight’s vote!”

Roy stares at him blankly, which causes Ed to deflate.

“Is that a joke?” Roy asks.

“Look.” Ed sighs, treating this with the thoughtfulness and caution he would for a complex alchemical array. “We’re running a risk either way. Save Hawkeye tonight or save yourself. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the same thing. The two of you are like that.”

“Exactly,” Roy says. He nods. “So I should definitely save myself. Hawkeye will understand.”

“No!” Ed shrieks. “That’s not what I meant!”

“You expect me to just throw immunity away?” Roy asks. “After all this? You realize the moment I do, I’ll be voted out. I’m personally more comfortable letting the vote split to a tie. Drawing stones is risky for everyone involved, but I couldn’t care less about Lan Fan, Greed, Armstrong, or even you for that matter.” When Ed scowls, Roy adds, “Oh, don’t act surprised. There was no way I was taking you to the end.”

“Bastard,” Ed mutters.

“Anyway, we should get going,” says Roy. “We have a tribal council to go to.”

* * *

 

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

The castaways enter in a single line with Roy at its head. They dip their torches into the fire and take their seats.

Jeff Probst stands behind the podium, gripping its edges with ferocity that whitens his knuckles. A scowl twists his normally-friendly features. Heiderich has not ceased looking at his shoes since tribal council began.

Ed glances skeptically between the two but ultimately says nothing.

Heiderich hesitantly clears his throat. Jeff Probst slowly turns his head, baring his teeth in a snarl.

“Jeff Probst, the jury,” Heiderich whispers, then quickly averts his eyes.

With a long-suffering sigh, Jeff Probst says, “I’ll now bring in the members of our jury.”

He names them as they take their seats. “Winry, Major Armstrong, Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber, Rolinda, and Havoc, voted out in the last tribal council.”

Jean Havoc frowns aggressively, taking a seat beside Rebecca who, at this point, has simply given up on seeking relevance. Havoc’s eyes scan the group and nearly bug out of his head when he sees the immunity necklace around the colonel’s neck.

“No,” Havoc whispers.

“Be quiet!” Jeff Probst shouts, slamming his fist against the podium.

Everyone jumps back. Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber drops his apparatus, leaving a scratch on the tribal council floor and thus earning him a glower from Jeff Probst. The man’s lower lip trembles as he fights back tears.

“What the hell is his problem?” Greed asks, widening his legs and leaning back. If there’s anyone here who should be embittered, it’s the one whose plans have been foiled yet again. That tunnel took days to dig.

Jeff Probst unhappily scratches his head. “Someone stole the peppermint hair care kit from my hotel suite...so I had to use the bathroom’s provided _2 in 1_ shampoo and conditioner.” He kicks the podium. “Like a _beast_!”

Ed’s face goes red.

Heiderich...

He...didn’t…

Ed looks to his fake brother, but the boy refuses to meet his eyes.

“I don’t get it,” says Roy. “What’s wrong with 2 in 1? I find it practical.”

Jeff Probst shakes his head in disgust. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I use 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner,” Chimera!Tucker whispers from behind his camera.

Ed quickly hides his angel-soft bangs by stretching his buff to cover his entire head. He tucks all of his hair inside.

“So,” says Ed with a nervous chuckle. “Tribal council, am I right?”

“I don’t see the point in this,” Olivier says. “We all know exactly where we’re allied. There is no secret as to who is being eliminated tonight.”

“Don’t get too confident,” Greed says with bitterness. “That’s what Yellow thought about Wrath before he pulled a hidden immunity idol out of his ass.”

On the jury bench, Winry, Armstrong, and Havoc all shudder from the memory.

Meanwhile, Jeff Probst has gone red in the face, and huffs and puffs from his position behind the podium, much to Heiderich’s horror and disapproval.

“Jeff Probst, you can’t lose your temper,” Heiderich says. He leans in and whispers, “Seacrest _never_ loses his temper.”

This seems to ignite something in Jeff Probst. He straightens up, taking a deep breath. With a nod, he says, “You’re right, Heiderich.”

Heiderich sighs with relief.

“How are you guys feeling?” Jeff Probst asks. He chuckles, a stunning contrast to his fury from a few seconds ago. “We’re at the _final six_. I’m sure by now, everyone has some idea as to who they want to be sitting next to at the final tribal council.”

“That’s a weak-minded strategy,” Olivier says. “The strongest will prevail. It’s no more complicated than that.”

Ed studies his tribe, mentally calculating where each castaway’s vote will go. The Colonel, Hawkeye, and himself for Olivier, the remaining for Hawkeye. Ed taps his foot anxiously. He cannot allow this vote to come to a tie.

Roy sucks in his cheeks, then laughs sardonically. “If this game were solely won by strength, the Fuhrer would be the one wearing this necklace, not me.”

“Damn right!” Ed blurts out as the idea forms and elucidates before him. “It’s a social game too. At this point, it isn’t a matter of bringing the people we _like_ to the finals.”

“Think about it,” Ed goes on. He brings his hands together, albeit incompletely as his automail’s fingers are all missing but one. “Yellow’s first elimination was Al. Sure, Winry said it was because he screwed the challenge up for you guys, but nobody on that tribe can tell me it wasn’t a prudent move.” His eyes flicker from Greed to Riza. “Well? Would either of you have felt comfortable sitting next to my brother in the end?”

“No,” says Riza, slowly beginning to catch on. She looks forward. “Alphonse Elric was loved by our entire tribe. Had he made it to the end, I would have never had the heart to vote against him.”

“Right,” says Ed. “When I vote, I think about the jury.” He nods at the bench. “The question I ask: who do they hate more than me? I want to keep that person in the game as long as possible.”

Roy blinks, impressed by the conniving nature of this entire strategy. Maybe Fullmetal isn’t as soft as he once thought.

“For example, the Colonel,” Ed says.

Roy instantly regrets thinking a single positive thing about the little shit.

Olivier uncrosses her legs, straightening her back. She watches Edward through slitted eyes.

“But,” says Lan Fan. She meekly rubs the metal plating on her left shoulder. “There is no honor in that.”

Riza smiles a little. “If you truly believe this game is played with honor, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“She’s right,” says Ed. “If you think there’s anyone sitting here that wouldn’t sacrifice their allies the moment push came to shove, you’re wrong.”

Riza side eyes Roy but says nothing.

Olivier barks a laugh. “Are you under the impression that it’s wiser to allow weak-minded fools the chance to succeed?” She shakes her head. “I’m not about to grant someone undeserving a path to the end. If I’m to win Survivor, it will be against whoever was strong and cunning enough to make it to my side. There’s no point or satisfaction in a victory against anything less.”

“You need to calm the hell down with this Briggs mindset.” Roy rolls his eyes. “It’s tribal council, not a Drachman invasion.”

“You’re right,” Olivier says with a slight croon. “The difference is, for a Drachman invasion, I’d have my men behind me--including Lieutenant Falman.”

Roy stands up. “Okay, _you know what_ \--”

“If you want to know my opinion,” Greed begins.

“We don’t,” Olivier mutters.  

“Well, unfortunately for you, this entire tribal council area belongs to CBS, which, by extension, belongs to me. So I make the rules.” Greed lounges back, pleased with himself. Meanwhile, Jeff Probst looks puzzled.

“Did he say…?” Jeff Probst looks at Heiderich.

“I’m going to win Survivor regardless,” he says. “The entire game is mine. So all this chit chat is irrelevant.”

“You saying this is as good as shooting yourself in the foot,” says Roy, reclaiming his seat.

“I have an ultimate shield,” says Greed with a wave. “I’m immune to shooting. At any rate, I play this game by the moment. Whoever can give me the most today is my friend come tribal council. All this complex strategy is pointless. In the end, scheming will make you a pariah in the eyes of the jury. Why even bother?”

No one says anything for a while. They stare at Greed, allowing the thick silence to settle over their shoulders.

Finally, Ed says, “Do you ever stop to think that maybe this is why you don’t actually have any friends?”

Greed sucks in a breath. Inside of him, Ling sighs. There it is. The F-word. The one thing that will shut Greed down completely.

Almost as if on cue, he falls to his knees, curls up on the tribal council floor, and lies there, contemplating his existence.

 _I told you to stay quiet_ , Ling says tiredly. _Look what happened. They’ve hurt your feelings_.

“My avarice knows no feelings,” Greed croaks.

“Someone get the homunculus off the floor,” Olivier says. With a scowl, she scoots away from where his body touches her foot.

“And I think, with that, it’s time to vote!” Jeff Probst says.

Lan Fan’s lips pull into a frown. She drops her gaze, tapping her fingers against her knee, anxious, it seems. Ed examines her curiously.

“Roy,” says Jeff Probst. “You have the immunity necklace. You can keep it, or give it to someone else”

Roy glances at Riza. He _could_ give her the necklace. Sure, he was willing to sacrifice Lan Fan, Winry, and Havoc when it was called for...but Hawkeye.

Warm firelight casts dancing shadows across her beautiful face. He remembers the first time he met her. It was a cloudy day in the country. He was still studying alchemy under Master Hawkeye when--

“Colonel, kindly stop staring at me.”

Roy’s trance is broken and he realizes everyone is judging him. Riza’s eyebrows raise as she patiently waits for him to quit being a creep. Stammering apologies, his eyes scan over the jury. Even Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber makes a face.

Roy turns away with a scoff. How dare he? He’s not even a real character.

“Uh.” Roy shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I’m keeping immunity.”

Riza Hawkeye may be beautiful. She may be his unofficial sniper wife. But Roy will be damned if he lets anyone take the title of Sole Survivor away from him. Even her.

“Sorry, Fullmetal,” Roy adds sadly. “But this is how the game must be won.”

“You’re one sick son of a bitch,” Ed says.

Roy stands up, and Jeff Probst nods toward the voting table. He heads over, writes Olivier’s name, and holds it up.

“I don’t care if tonight comes to a tie,” he says. “That’s still a one in six shot of getting to see you on the jury next week.”

When Roy returns, Lan Fan goes to cast her own vote. She sets her hand atop the page, closing her eyes. She thinks of her and Riza’s conversation on the beach. And finally, Ed’s words at tribal council.

“I’m sorry,” she says, dispelling the memories as she uncaps her pen. “I cannot afford to be reckless this late in the game. I will not disgrace the Yao Clan.”

Lan Fan sits down, sighing with relief. She’s followed by Ed, forced to write with his opposite hand now that his automail is lacking the necessary fingers to hold a writing utensil. Shakily, he scribbles his vote and returns.

When it’s Greed’s turn, Lan Fan and Olivier each grab an arm to hoist him up into a standing position. He drags his feet to the voting table and collapses against it. Ling groans within him.

 _Let me take control_ , he begs. _You look pitiful_.

“How could he say that to me?” Greed asks harshly.

_Please write your vote. This is televised and you’re in my body. This is so embarrassing._

“Last I checked, this was _my_ body,” Greed says, snatching the pen up and aggressively writing down a name. “I call the shots.”

After Greed’s vote is in, Riza writes hers, followed by Olivier. She holds her vote up. It reads, in her elegant script: _Hawkeye_.

“Let it be known,” Olivier says, “I’d rather it be him. Unfortunately, I must settle for you. Rest assured, I’ll have Mustang on that jury bench alongside you in no time.”

She returns and settles in beside Lan Fan on the bench.

“I’ll tally the votes,” Jeff Probst says. He leaves to retrieve them. In his moment of absence, Heiderich flashes Ed a grin.

“Great hair, brother,” he whispers.

Ed pretends not to hear him.

Heiderich frowns and says, a little louder, “I said--”

“Jeff Probst is well within earshot,” Ed warns, irked. Heiderich immediately shuts up and tries to look innocent when the host returns with the vote pot.

He sets it on his podium, letting his eyes linger on Heiderich’s highly suspicious body language. Heiderich smiles at him. Jeff Probsts looks away and opens the pot.

“Once the votes are read, the decision is final,” he says. “The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

Riza braces herself. Perhaps this vote coming to a tie will work in her favor. However, if she’s learned anything from the previous tribal councils, it’s that there are no guarantees. She’s subject to being blindsided until the very last torch is snuffed.

“First vote,” says Jeff Probst. He turns it around. “Hawkeye.”

She nods. This comes as no surprise to anyone. Especially since it’s displayed in graceful Armstrong script.

Jeff Probst pulls out the next vote. He turns it around. “Armstrong. That’s one vote Riza, one vote Olivier.”

Jeff Probst reads the next vote with a wrinkled brow. He turns it around with uncertainty. “Uh...any idea what the heck this is supposed to say?”

Olivier is disgusted by such sloppy penmanship. Roy glances at Ed and asks, “Fullmetal, is that _your_ vote?”

Ed blushes, tucking a hand in between his legs. He mutters, “You try writing without any fingers.”

“I can vaguely make out a G,” Jeff Probst says. He flicks the vote away. “General Armstrong. That’s two Olivier, one Riza.”

Olivier is unmoved. She expected this. It all comes down to the final vote. Either that, or a tie breaker. She’s fully prepared for either outcome.

“Hawkeye,” says Jeff Probst, setting the next vote aside. “We’re back at a tie with two votes Riza, two votes Olivier.”

“I don’t know why he always does this,” Ed murmurs to Roy. “We can count.”

“ _Next vote_ ,” Jeff Probst says, raising his voice. His jaw twitches as he unfolds the page. He displays it for the others. “Olivier.”

Punctuated with a smiley face. Definitely Roy Mustang’s disgusting work. Olivier glares forward.

“So we have three votes Olivier,” Jeff Probst counts, shooting Ed an unhappy look, “two votes Riza, and one vote left.”

As he’s reaching for the vote, Ed takes a moment to wonder how the hell this is supposed to work. The whole stone-drawing concept hasn’t actually been explained thus far in the fanfic. How are they supposed to know what to do? How do they even know this is a thing? Did the author just pull it out of nowhere, or is it actually--

“Eleventh person voted out of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the sixth member of our jury,” says Jeff Probst as he reveals the final vote. “Olivier. Bring me your torch.”

No one moves. Everyone is far too stunned. Roy and Riza search each other’s eyes for an explanation.

Riza: _I thought you said we lost Greed’s vote_.

Roy: _I did...we_ did _. I don’t know what happened._

Olivier stares daggers at her two allies, trying to figure which of the two betrayed her, but they’re both impassive.

Finally, once the shock leaves her, she laughs. A rich, hearty guffaw. She cannot believe this. Twenty three days of being on the same campsite as Roy Mustang. Twenty three days of limited food and water. Twenty three days she’s _wasted_ only to end up on the jury alongside Alex with Mustang happily wearing the immunity necklace.

She stands up, bringing her torch to Jeff Probst’s podium. Roy’s eyes do not leave her the entire time. His smile stretches across his entire, stupid face.

Olivier finds solace in the knowledge that his abdomen looks like a broiled pizza.

She holds her torch out, still chuckling. A gust of wind blows through her hair. Still, even now, it’s perfect.

“Olivier,” says Jeff Probst, “the tribe has spoken.” He puts out her flame and she leaves without another word. In her wake, Major Armstrong has buried his face into his hands, shuddering with sobs. Winry awkwardly pats his back.

Ed feels so relieved, it’s all he can do not to fall to the floor and start weeping himself.

Hawkeye was saved.

Which means Ed gets to live another day.

Riza hasn’t been able to blink since the General departed. She stares at Greed and Lan Fan, wondering which of the two was responsible.

“Well,” says Jeff Probst. “What we just saw just goes to show you that anything can happen at tribal council.” He smiles, but the smile is empty. He’s still salty about the 2 in 1. “Grab your torches and head back to camp. I’ll see you for the next challenge.”

* * *

 

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Olivier Mira Armstrong**

“Though this was unexpected, it was far from implausible,” she says. Outwardly, she remains calm, though her clenched fists tremble by her sides. “I refuse to believe for a moment that Mustang is a worthy contender for Sole Survivor. But that no longer holds any importance to me.”

“General,” says Archer. He no longer has a flip phone, but instead a camcorder he was told to steal from the prop bin of _The Big Bang Theory_. “Your face is very red.”

Growling, she snatches the camcorder from his hands and crushes it in her fist. She shoves the crumpled hunk of metal into his chest. Stunned, he takes it, watching as she stomps down the trail, leading to, well, wherever castaways go after they’re eliminated.

She yanks the black Survivor buff off of her head and tosses it away, wind flowing through her hair as she goes. Never, in Survivor history, has an exit been quite so fabulous.

* * *

 

**Votes:**  
Roy: Olivier Mira Armstrong  
Ed: Olivier Mira Armstrong  
Greed: Riza Hawkeye  
Olivier: Riza Hawkeye  
Lan Fan: Olivier Mira Armstrong  
Riza: Olivier Mira Armstrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will find out Lan Fan’s reasons for betraying Olivier next chapter, if you have yet to give up on this mess of a fic. Fun fact: when I was first planning the elimination order, Olivier was going to make final two. But then, as I kept writing, I started changing my mind. Honestly, there are a lot of characters I initially planned to either keep longer or eliminate earlier. Which seems kind of strange since this is crackfic with already so little continuity/organization. haha
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading! Will Roy win immunity again? Will Riza drag Ed to hell with her? Will GREED EVER ENTER THE PALACE? 
> 
> Honestly, the biggest mystery of all: who filled the tunnel? You’ll also find out. Probably. 
> 
> sghlskdjghsldkjghsdklgjhsd! Thanks for sticking around! This fic is at, like, 90k words. This Survivor crackfic is legally considered novel-length. How did this happen.


	18. Episode 10 (Part 1)

With a certain degree of precariousness, the astonished castaways do not say a word to Lan Fan the night after tribal council. Instead, they hushedly discuss the events amongst themselves beneath the tree Greed claimed several chapter ago.

“I can’t believe she voted for Armstrong,” Roy whispers.

“I can’t believe you’re all in my sleeping area,” Greed mutters. “Can’t you do this somewhere else?”

“It is rather odd,” says Riza, ignoring him.

Greed throws himself back and curls up against the sand. He pulls a fallen palm over his body, for warmth that his immortal body doesn’t technically need.

“Lieutenant, didn’t you talk to Lan Fan before tribal?” Roy asks. “Did she say anything that could have foreshadowed this?”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Please. This fanfic’s author isn’t nearly that clever. Lan Fan made that decision at tribal council, no doubt about it.”

“Edward is right.” Riza cranes her neck, scanning the surrounding area. When she sees Lan Fan is nowhere in sight, she lowers her voice and adds, “General Armstrong played a strong enough social game to garner the required jury support to win. Lan Fan likely saw that and made the decision to vote with us right then.”

“Huh.” Amused, Roy leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “So even our royal guard is playing an underhanded game.” He shifts his eyes to the ocean. “She’s someone we ought to be looking out for, then. It isn’t like Lan Fan has too many enemies on the jury either.”

Riza trains her eyes on him, studying every word to cross his lips.

* * *

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“I’m willing to play along with whatever the Colonel has planned,” she says. “However, come tribal council, his elimination remains my priority.”

* * *

Ed plugs his nose. “Alright, fine. We get Lan Fan next. Now can we please hold future strategy meetings elsewhere. It reeks over here.”

Greed rolls into a sitting position with a loud groan. “It’s Wrath’s stupid plant. I haven’t watered it once, but somehow, it keeps getting stronger.”

Everyone’s eyes shift to the fallen pot a few feet from Greed’s designated area. It is true that the star-shaped flowers that spill onto the sand appear even larger and more vibrant in color than they did prior to Bradley’s departure.

“How is that possible?” Riza asks.

Greed snarls in response.

* * *

Meanwhile, Lan Fan finds a spot behind the palace to settle for the night. There isn’t anything particularly noteworthy of this portion of the island apart from the manmade dock from which the Fuhrer’s jetski is tied. It bobs lazily over his moat’s gentle waves.

She’s spent the last hour or so weaving a tarp out of seaweed and palm leaves to use as a blanket. For having one arm to perform the task, she is inexplicably adept.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“Yes,” she says, staring dead into the camera lens. “I voted for General Armstrong at tribal council tonight against my better morals. In the end, Edward’s proposition was too powerful to ignore.”

Shame flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone a blink later. She looks forward with determination.

“This late in the game,” she goes on, “I realize everyone is only in this to protect themselves. And so, if I wish to win, I must ensure whoever is sitting next to me at the final tribal council lacks any redeeming qualities. I cannot beat General Armstrong in a jury vote. Fortunately, the remaining players are greedy savages undeserving of the two million cenz prize.” She pauses for a moment, bringing a finger to her chin. “I do wonder what the exchange rate for Xingese currency would be.”

* * *

The very next morning, Lan Fan sits at the campfire with a forced smile and a pile of dead fish beside her. She’d woken up at dawn in order to catch breakfast for the tribe. It’s all about face value, after all.

Ed is the first to wake. He drags his feet to the campfire, sniffing the smoke that wafts through the air as Lan Fan cooks.

“Good morning,” she says. She holds a skewered fish out to him. “I’ve made breakfast.”

Ed yawns, stretching his arms over his head. A chunk of metal pops off of his automail and hits the sand. He sighs.

Lan Fan wiggles the fish in front of his eyes and he takes it with his left hand, curiously examining it.

“What is this?” he asks, lifting his gaze.

Lan Fan frowns. “It’s fish. Like we’ve been eating every day.”

Ed takes a whiff and nearly gags. There is no way this is what his tribe has been eating every day. That’s just inhumane.

“I…” Ed sets the stick back in her hand. Lan Fan looks down at it uncertainly.

He slowly backs away. “I’m good. Not hungry, actually. Hey, Lan Fan, I think I’m going to go into the jungle for a bit. If anyone asks, I’m, uh, running laps.” He awkwardly bounces on his heels. “Yeah.”

Ed springs into a jog and quickly disappears into the jungle.  

* * *

Even though he has yet to lose any toes, Ed’s leg still hurts a lot worse than his arm as he wanders through the jungle. The joints have rusted completely, which has made it difficult to walk. But what’s worse is the stiffness around where the automail meets his skin.

He stops once he’s sure he’s out of earshot of the other castaways.

“Wow,” he says, rather loudly. “I sure am hungry.”

A bird caws in response.

Ed clears his throat and, somewhat impatiently, re-announces, “I _said_ , wow! I sure am _hungry_!”

Nothing. Not even a rustling bush.

Where the hell is Heiderich? Doesn’t he know Ed always starts to get hungry right after waking? How does Heiderich expect him to stay alive in this game without his spinach, egg, bacon, and feta cheese wrap with hashbrowns and sparkling juice on the side?

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I’ve got to say,” Ed mumbles unhappily, “I’m starting to second guess my alliance with Heiderich. Before, we worked really well together. But now? I think he’s starting to take my affection for granted.”

* * *

Embittered, Ed treks back to camp. By now, everyone is awake, sitting around the campfire eating Lan Fan’s fish.

Plopping down next to Roy, Ed grumbles, “My tongue is so dry it’ll probably snap in two if I talk too much.”

“Well,” says Roy, “When we ran out of water rations, Havoc started drinking from the moat. He said once you got past the gator excrement and debris, it isn’t so bad.”

Ed whimpers.

Riza thrusts a bowl-shaped seashell into his face. He takes it, examining it with uncertainty. It holds roughly a mouthful of water.

Ed looks up and demands, “What the hell is this?”

“Back on Yellow, your alchemy teacher Izumi taught me how to spile water from the trees,” Riza explains. “It’s limited, so pace yourself.”

Ed looks down at the seashell in disgust. He brings it to his lips, tentatively dips his tongue inside, then contorts his face as if he’d just swallowed lemon juice.

“It’s…lukewarm,” he says.

“Would you like a fish?” Lan Fan asks again. She holds his stick from earlier out to him. By now, it’s probably gotten cold. Ed opens his mouth to decline, but his stomach growls loudly.

With a smile, Lan Fan shoves the stick into his hand. Ed stares at it.

It’s been scaled to perfection, but it’s gotten soggy, lying in the humidity this long. Ed brings the fish to his mouth and delicately bites the very tip. He immediately gags.

“Insipid,” Ed says with a grimace. The slimy fish slithers down his throat. He shudders, then hands the fish to Lan Fan. He stands, raising his palms. “I can’t eat this.”

Lan Fan is too puzzled to be offended. She inspects the fish for a moment, then frowns at him. “Of course it’s insipid. It isn’t like I can season it with anything.”

Everyone looks at him in stunned silence.  Greed’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“The kid seems partial to the finer things in life,” he says. “And while I can appreciate his taste, I don’t like the idea of this punk taking anything that should be mine.”

* * *

“….anyway,” Roy says, shifting the attention from Ed. He chews thoughtfully. “I think my bug bites are finally starting to subside. It’s amazing how–”

“You selfish bastard!” Ed yells, kicking sand into Roy’s face. “You think _your_ skin is the only that’s suffering? I haven’t been able to moisturize all morning!” It’s true. Heiderich promised to replace Ed’s empty tub of shea butter but he has yet to show.

Riza absently rubs her stomach and says, “My wound from the slip and slide challenge is so infected it’s numbed the entire middle portion of my body.”

Roy keels over in a coughing fit, rubbing his irritated eyes. Why, he wonders, is it always _him_ to get sand thrown into his face? By now, this had to have happened in at least three other chapters.

Ed stomps away, kicking rocks and coconuts out of his path as he goes. The castaways stare after him in puzzlement.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“I’m not sure what’s going on with Edward,” she says. “But he’s grown insufferable. All he’s done this morning is complain. It isn’t like the rest of us are eating luxury foods either. Perhaps he needs to breathe and remember where exactly we are.”

* * *

Roy stands up, wondering if he should do the surrogate father thing and follow him. Then he shakes his head and sits down.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Yeah, Fullmetal is being a brat,” he says. “And everyone’s starting to feel it. But the more I think about it, the more I feel I should just let him be. If he continues to piss everyone off, that might take the target off my back for the time being.”

* * *

Lan Fan is walking along the shore later that afternoon when she spots Greed neck-deep in the ocean. One can only wonder what he could possibly be up to _now_.

More out of concern for the young lord than actual curiosity, she wades out to meet him. Upon approaching, she hears him making high pitched squeeing noises uncharacteristic even for Ling.

“Homunculus?” Lan Fan says.

In his alarm, Greed flails, splashing water all around them. He moves aside, exposing a rubbery sea mammal that Lan Fan has never seen before. It whistles with glee.

“What is _that_?” she asks warily.

Greed glares at her. “What the hell does it look like? It’s a dolphin.”

“I see,” says Lan Fan. She meets its empty black eyes. “And if I may ask, what are you doing with this…dolphin?”

He turns away from her, petting the dolphin’s fin. It cheerfully nuzzles Greed’s face with its snout.

“I’m training him,” he says. The dolphin shimmies up and out of the water with a cry of delight. He pats its head to calm it down. “Easy, Carlos.”

“Training?” Lan Fan questions. “Why are–”

“ _Look,_ I need to get into that palace!” he explodes.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“I’m done,” she says, throwing her arm up, shaking her head. “That is it. I’ve officially given up on trying to understand any of this. I. Am. Done.”

* * *

##  **_// Immunity Challenge //_ **

“Come on in, guys!” Jeff Probst calls to them.

The castaways file in with Roy in the lead. He walks proudly, the immunity necklace around his neck on full display.

“Is it me,” Ed whispers to Greed, “or were our camp shenanigans fewer words than usual?”

Greed shrugs. “Beats the hell out of me. I mean, we’re breaking 100k here. I can’t imagine the author can keep us funny for much longer.”

“There are also fewer of us,” Riza chimes in. “Therefore, fewer opportunities to jump to another part of the island when one character grows stale. And of course, Havoc has been eliminated, so she can’t fall back on him being the fic’s punching bag anymore.”

The challenge course is a sandy terrain that stretches roughly forty meters. At the end, there are five target boards, and behind each one, a locked chest sitting on a table.

Riza stares at the board with hunger in her eyes.

 _Finally_ , she thinks, her veins buzzing. _A shooting challenge._

The castaways stand together, surveying the challenge course. Or at least, all them but Ed do. _His_ blistering eyes are fixed on Heiderich whose far more stricken eyes are trained on the back of Jeff Probst’s head.

“Roy,” says Jeff Probst. “Time to give it back.”

Roy sighs, pulling the immunity necklace over his head. He presents it to Jeff Probst, who places it back on its podium.

“Once again immunity,” he says, “is _back_ up for grabs.”

Ed exhales loudly, tapping his foot. Heiderich still won’t look at him.

“Heiderich,” says Jeff Probst.

The boy jumps, choking back a scream. He rocks back on his heels, uncharacteristically informal.

“Yes?” he asks shakily.

“The cooler,” Jeff Probst says flatly, irked that this is even something that requires clarification.

With a sharp breath, Heiderich nods, turning on his heel, retreating into the jungle. When he returns, he drags a small red cooler by its handle and sets it between the castaways and Jeff Probst.

Greed is the first to make a move. He points at it and asks, “What’s this?”

“It’s a–”

“I want it,” Greed says, cutting him off.

A growl escapes the back of Jeff Probts’s throat. He hates being interrupted. Has ever since Ryan Seacrest cut him off in the middle of his Emmys acceptance speech when the bastard hosted all those years ago.

He doesn’t realize he was speaking out loud until Heiderich says, “Jeff Probst, that didn’t actually happen. Remember, it’s just a recurring nightmare of yours.”

He looks up, sees that everyone is staring at him. With a blush, Jeff Probst looks down and mumbles, “Open the cooler, Heiderich.”

So he does, and inside there are five bottles of water. The castaways just about fall over each other in their amazement.

“Water?” Riza asks, her eyes lighting up. Without thinking, she grips Roy by the sleeve of his shirt to find her balance.

“That’s water,” Lan Fan says. She falls to her knees. “ _Cold_ water.”

“I think…” Roy’s face crumples. He weeps openly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s a t-t-terrible day for r-rain.”

He sinks to the ground, slipping out from Riza’s grasp. She awkwardly pats the top of his head.

Greed grabs three bottles at once and shoves them up his shirt.

Jeff Probst screams in protest, then signals for Chimera!Tucker to release his hounds.

“Wait!” Greed yells, throwing his hands over his head, allowing the bottles to fall out from under his shirt, hitting the sand one by one. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Chimera!Tucker frowns in disappointment.

All the while, Ed remains impassive.

“Anyway,” says Jeff Probst, shooting Greed a withering look, “I figured final five, you deserve something nice, yadda, yadda, yadda. So out of the goodness of my heart–”

“Which televised award were you nominated for that you need to put on a good face for your country?” Lan Fan asks tiredly.

Jeff Probst lifts his head with a flashy smile. “People’s Choice.”

The tribe sighs collectively. Riza mutters, “Of course.”

Roy swallows the knot in his throat and picks a water bottle off the ground. He unscrews the cap, takes a swig, and then resorts to pouring the entire thing on his face.

“Oh, sweet Armstrong sparkles this is amazing,” he sobs.

The others ravenously follow suit. Riza crushes the bottle in her fist as she gulps it down, barely allowing herself the chance to breathe. Lan Fan practically swallows the plastic in its entirety. Greed finishes his in mere moments, sucking the air straight out of the bottle in his haste.

And Edward calmly takes his bottle from the bottom of the cooler, already skeptical because it is _chilled,_ which is definitely _not_ cold.

He unscrews the cap, takes a sip, and then spits it out, water dribbling down his chin. He drops the bottle without bothering to seal it.  

As its contents leak out, Roy throws himself down, shoving his cheek against the sand in order to catch the outpour of water with his tongue. Greed swipes the bottle away and empties its contents into his own mouth.

Roy lunges for Greed’s throat with an outcry, but Riza grabs him by the leg, yanking him back. His fingers fissure through the sand as his lieutenant drags him away.

“Sir, _no_!” Riza yells. “You know you’re the only character in canon who can kill people like him! You can’t risk disqualification!”

If Greed dies, that substantially increases Roy’s chances of winning immunity. Riza cannot have that.

“He doesn’t even _need_ water!” Roy cries. “He’s immortal!”

Lan Fan, however, stares at Ed in incredulity. And pretty soon, the remaining players join her.

Ed spits, as if it can rid him of the water’s vile taste.

“This,” he chokes out, “is not artesian water.”

“No,” says Jeff Probst, partially annoyed, but also kind of impressed that Ed, like him, has a taste for artesian water. “It’s Aquafina.”

Ed is horrified. “ _Aquafina_?” Not even from the French alps. Unbelievable.

“Fullmetal,” says Roy, slowly getting back up on his feet. “You’ve had awfully…unrealistic expectations of the island as of late.”

Riza glances at Ed, who seems to be deliberately avoiding Heiderich, going as far as to turn his back to him. Suddenly, Riza is taken back to Episode 6.

_“What’s going on?” Riza had asked, approaching Ed and Heiderich in the jungle’s thick of trees._

_“Brotherly bonding!” Heiderich had responded, hugging Ed around his shoulders. “Right, brother?”_

_“Yeah,” Ed replied. “What he said.”_

The realization dawns on her. Why Ed’s hair has been softer and more peppermint-scented than usual. The weight gain. The grease stains on his shirt. The way Havoc smelled beef on the island, all those chapters ago, and how both she and the Colonel had called him crazy.

Riza gasps, her eyes going wide.

“You…” she whispers, curling her fingers into a fist, “little twerp.”

Ed goes frigid, watching her cautiously. She’s tempted, _so tempted_ , to reveal all of Edward’s secrets right here and now. How long has he been playing them all for fools? Eating, bathing, living a life of luxury while the rest of them were scraping dead cockroaches and rotten bananas together just to make it through the day?

And…

Riza’s scorching glower finds Heiderich.

“ _You_ ,” she growls, voice dripping with venom.

Heiderich gasps and hides behind Jeff Probst. Riza shifts her weight, prepared to stomp forward and choke him, but something stops her.

 _Don’t be an idiot, Riza,_ says a voice in the back of her head. _Can’t you see this gives you even_ more _leverage_?

She takes a deep breath and straightens up. Heiderich shyly steps away, though his hands are still trembling.

“Relax, everyone,” Riza says coolly. “The lack of sleep and sustenance has been getting to us all. Perhaps Edward lashing out is nothing but a result of his malnourishment.”

Ed visibly relaxes, albeit quizzically. He leers at Riza, trying to find her angle in all of this.

“Normally, I’d find a reach like that sketchy at best,” says Roy. He smiles. “But the lieutenant would never lie to me. So I believe her.”

“I’d never lie to you,” Riza echoes, revolted with herself.

“ _Thick as thieves_ ,” he whispers, linking his forefingers together.

“Let’s segue into the immunity challenge,” Riza says, a little impatiently.

“Way ahead of you, Riza!” says Jeff Probst. He snaps his fingers and Hohenheim of Light comes running out of the shadows to collect the cooler and empty water bottles, then drag them out of frame.

“For today’s challenge,” says Jeff Probst, “You will dig beneath the marked areas on the sand runway for three bags, and then move onto the target board. You will be asked to throw darts. If you make a bullseye, you’ll be allowed onto the next round. There, you’ll empty the bags of their puzzle pieces and solve a puzzle. The solved puzzle will give you a combination of numbers. You’ll use that to open the chest. First one to do so wins immunity.”

Ed points at the target board with a frown. “What does the shooting portion even have to do with the challenge? It isn’t like it adds anything to the entire thing but an extra obstacle.”

“Shut up, Edward,” Riza says, looking onward.

“Yeah, seriously,” says Greed. “It’s like the author _wanted_ Hawkeye to win.”

“That’s absurd,” says Riza, beginning to clam up. Because _damn_ , what they’re saying does make a lot of sense.

“I can’t believe the blatant favoritism,” says Greed. “If _I_ were the author’s favorite character, I would have had a palace by now.”

“So what if the author wanted me to win?” Riza explodes. “Maybe I deserve to!”

“Lieutenant, you’re turning red,” says Roy.

“ _SHUT UP,_ ROY!”

Everyone falls silent. Riza freezes. Jeff Probst’s jaw falls open. For a long while, nobody says a word.

Ed is the one to break the silence. “Did you just…call him Roy?”

“Voluntarily?” Greed adds.

Lan Fan cringes, digging her palm into her eye. “Gah! It sounds so _wrong_ coming from her voice.”

“I’m….so turned on,” says Roy, blushing.

“Jeff Probst, let’s start the challenge!” Riza yells in a panic. “Please.”

“Fine by me,” says Jeff Probst. He steps in front of Chimera!Tucker’s camera and winks. “This challenge is brought to you by Aquafina™”

The castaways line up at the beginning of the course. Riza bounces up and down, shaking out her arms, trying not to make eye contact with Roy who hasn’t quit staring at her since her outburst.

“Survivors ready?” Jeff Probst asks.

“I’m so thirsty,” Ed whines.

Lan Fan raises her eyebrow at him.

“Go!” yells Jeff Probst.

They take off at once, each person falling to their knees beside their first marker, a small rod poking out from the sand.

Lan Fan’s strategy is to use her legs, digging her heels into the sand and roughly shoving it into a pile, bracing herself with her arm on the ground.

“Lan Fan off to a good start!” says Jeff Probst. He looks over at Ed and grimaces. “Ooh. Ed not doing so hot.”

Ed curses as sand jams into the spaces between his automail’s plates. He digs with his good arm, but doesn’t appear to be getting very far.

Meanwhile, Riza digs savagely, sweat dampening her hairline. If she can’t win _this_ challenge, she won’t win any.

 _All that matters_ , she reminds herself _, is that the Colonel loses_.

She is determined to see to that personally.

And then there is Greed on the far right end of the challenge course. He halfheartedly flicks bits of sand away from him, then looks up at Jeff Probst with wonder.

“So, artesian water,” he begins.

 _Greed, we have a challenge to win!_ Ling scolds. _Don’t you distract yourself!_

“Lan Fan with her first bag!” Jeff Probst announces, pointedly ignoring Greed. The questions shakes him, though. At the rate Jeff Probst’s luxury items have been disappearing, it’s not improbable that his water could be next. And what’s he expected to bathe in then? _Tap water_?

His radiant, moisturized skin crawls at the thought.

Lan Fan runs to the next marker, dropping her purple sack of puzzle pieces on the ground. She wastes no time digging for the second.

“Riza, right behind!” Jeff Probst says.

Riza keeps her eyes on Lan Fan, seizing her own orange bag. She quickens her pace, the thought of that target board turning her stomach to butterflies, as if it were a lover.

Roy yanks a red bag out of the sand, following suit.

“Roy in this!” Jeff Probst yells.

Riza swears, her palms going raw from the ferocity of her digging.

“Dammit,” Ed whimpers, barely making a dent in the sand. “My hand is so tired.” He could always use his automail hand, but why risk losing the one finger he has left on it?

If only alchemy weren’t forbidden, he could transmute his arm into a shovel and win for sure.

The heat is sweltering. More so than usual. Riza feels her ears beginning to burn under the scorching sunlight. Roy’s hair is just about drenched in sweat. Lan Fan is red in the face, working twice as hard as everyone else, but still, she remains in the lead.

Greed activates his ultimate shield, shoves his hand into the sand, and extracts his green sack, without any effort at all.

“Nice,” says Greed, crossing his legs and opening the bag.

“HEY!” Jeff Probst springs into action so brusquely, he accidentally whacks Heiderich in the face with his arm. “Stop that! You can’t open the sack until after the target obstacle!”

“Yeah?” Greed asks mockingly, pulling the puzzle pieces out one by one, arranging them on the sand. These are lovely. They’ll make great adornments for his tree at camp. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“Greed disqualified!” Jeff Probst yells.

Greed’s face falls. He slowly turns his head toward Jeff Probst. “ _Disqualified_?”

“That’s right,” says Jeff Probst, standing up straighter. He clears his throat. “Greed, you’re out of this challenge.”

“WHAT?” Greed jumps to his feet. “You can’t disqualify me! Not on _my_ obstacle course!”

“ _Tucker_ ,” Jeff Probst growls through his teeth. And the cameraman lights up, prepared to call upon his hounds.

“Okay, fine!” Greed exclaims, sobering instantly. “Duly noted.” He bends over to collect the puzzle pieces.

“Leave them!” Jeff Probst snaps.

Greed’s hands go slack. The puzzle pieces drop to the sand. He hisses at Jeff Probst.

As Greed walks past him and sits on a nearby bench, Jeff Probst murmurs, “What is wrong with you?”

Sometime within the last few paragraphs, Riza and Lan Fan have both collected their second bags and are hastily digging for the third. Lan Fan beats Riza to the punch and runs to the target board.

“Lan Fan ready to start throwing darts!” Jeff Probst announces.

“Dammit!” Riza grumbles, digging faster.

Lan Fan grabs the handful of darts that lay haphazardly on the ground. She backs away so that she stands atop the course’s designated X.

She throws her first dart. It misses. She closes her eyes, the heat beginning to wear her down. Dizziness threatens to overtake her.

 _Focus_ , she tells herself, rolling her shoulders back. _You’ve thrown knives hundreds of times. How different is this?_

“Lan Fan misses!” Jeff Probst says.

She whirls around with a huff and shouts, “I think the audience is aware!”

Jeff Probst raises his palms in defense. Then he begins to fan himself. “Sweet Exile Island, it’s hot outside.” He looks to his assistant. “Heiderich, fetch me a hand-held electric fan. One that oscillates. And sprays water.” He pauses, thinking it over, then adds, “Water from the French Alps. None of that Dasani crap.”

“Good call!” pants Ed from the challenge course. He drives his fist into the sand and wheezes. Man, what he’d give for an oscillating fan of his own.

Heiderich frowns. “I don’t have one of those.”  

Jeff Probst huffs in irritation. “Well, it’s not going to buy itself.”

While he shuffles away, Roy grabs his second bag and starts digging for the third. Ed, on the other hand, has completely given up. He lay sprawled atop his pile of sand with his tongue out.

“So….hot,” he moans. He licks his dry lips. In a feeble whisper, he adds, “and thirsty.”

“Uh, Probst,” says Greed. He points at the tiny series protagonist lying on the sand. “I think the Fullmetal kid is having a heat stroke.”

Jeff Probst looks over. Ed is flushed to the roots of his hair, rolling over to press his scorching automail into the sand. He breathes shallowly.

Jeff Probst waves it off. “He’ll be fine.”

“I can’t feel my fingers,” Ed croaks.

“Where is Heiderich with that fan?” Jeff Probst throws his hands in the air. “I don’t have all day!”

Roy yanks his second bag out of the sand and rushes to dig up the third. Lan Fan hits the bullseye on her next try and rushes to the tables.

“Lan Fan on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst yells.

Riza pulls her final bag free and sprints to the target board. She scoops the darts off the ground, assumes her position over the X, and shoots. Even dizzied by the heat, she hits the bullseye on her first try.

“The Hawk’s Eye making _great_ time on that target board!” Jeff Probst announces, as Riza dumps her bags on the table and begins working on her puzzle.

“Roy grabs his final bag!” Jeff Probst calls. “But can he catch up to Lan Fan and Riza?”

Ed rolls over, burying his face in the sand.

Roy finds his spot on on the marked X and throws his first dart. He misses. He throws the second. Also misses.

“Normally I’m fully capable of pin-point aiming,” Roy murmurs, bringing a hand to his spinning head. “But, _man_ , is this heat screwing with me.”

Lan Fan and Riza work tirelessly on their puzzles. The former at a slight disadvantage as she only has one hand to move the pieces. However, her efficiency at digging up the puzzle pieces bought her enough time to still have a lead, if only a slight one, over Riza.

“Riza or Lan Fan,” says Jeff Probst as Heiderich comes sprinting back into frame, thrusting a small electrical fan into his boss’s face. Jeff Probst takes it wordlessly and turns it on with a sigh of relief, fanning his face.

Heiderich, now drenched in sweat, collapses to the ground. He lifts his eyes and sees that Ed is also down.

“B-brother?” He sits up. “Someone call the medic! My brother has fallen!”

“I’m fine, Heiderich!” Ed growls, raking a hand through his sweat-streaked hair. He refuses to let Heiderich take pity on him. Not after he abandoned him today.

Riza picks a puzzle piece up off the table and examines it thoroughly, turning it around in her hand.  

Swaying on his feet, Roy manages to hit the bullseye on his very last dart. He bounds on over to the puzzle table, dropping his bags on its surface.

“Roy has caught up and is now on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst says.

Riza’s head jerks up. She squeezes her eyes shut in a hard blink. Her head is throbbing from the heat, but more distracting than that is the pounding of her heart. The Colonel has shown to be quite skilled at puzzle challenges in the past. She cannot, under any circumstances, allow him to catch up.

She throws a desperate glance at Lan Fan’s table. The girl works quickly, arranging and rearranging the pieces, chewing her lip in concentration.

When Riza looks over at Mustang’s table, she’s strangled by her own horror. In no time at all, he’s completed half the puzzle without breaking a single sweat.

“Fucking alchemists,” she mutters under her breath.

“It’s between Roy and Lan Fan now,” Jeff Probst says. The girl is down to her last few pieces, Roy right at her heels.

Riza is so pathetically behind, she has no choice but to forfeit. She tosses her remaining pieces on the table. Whatever. Not like it matters. Tonight’s vote is either going to Lan Fan or the Colonel anyway.

“Give up, Lan Fan,” says Roy with a hearty chuckle. He snaps another piece into place.

“I won’t,” she says breathlessly, moving two pieces that she realizes are arranged incorrectly. “I must defeat you. For my fallen allies. For everyone who believed in me.”

“Relax, it’s just a reality TV show,” Ed groans boredly from his position on the sand.

She slams the final piece into place and inputs the combination. The chest pops open.

Jeff Probst throws his arms up. “Lan Fan wins immunity!”

Roy drops his pieces and glowers at her. On Lan Fan’s other side, Riza sighs in relief, allowing herself to slump against the table.

Lan Fan closes her eyes with a smile. After everything–jumping from alliance to alliance, having her arm sabotaged by Roy Mustang and his dogs, taking a knife in the leg, having to put up with Edward Elric’s incessant whining–the immunity necklace is finally around her neck.

 _Grandfather would be so proud_ , she thinks, tears prickling her eyes.

“This,” she says out loud, as Jeff Probst bestows the necklace upon her, “is for Xing. And–”

“This really doesn’t require a speech,” says Jeff Probst through a yawn. He checks his watch. He wonders if he remembered to unplug the curling iron back in his hotel suite.

Over on the challenge course, Ed’s arm is draped across Greed’s shoulders. However, due to their height difference, his toes barely brush the ground as they walk.

“A little help would be nice!” Greed snaps.

“Can’t,” Ed whispers, lolling his head to the side. “Too weak.”

Greed sighs, but takes the opportunity to empty Ed’s pockets nevertheless.

“Lan Fan, you have a one in four shot of winning this game,” says Jeff Probst. “The rest of you, get back to camp and prepare for tribal tonight where one of you _will_ be voted off.”

He places his hands on his hips, sizing everyone up. “Will it be Edward Elric, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, or Greed? After over twenty days.”

“I’m never getting voted off,” Greed states matter-of-factly.

Everyone stares at him. He shrugs indifferently.

“…..alright then,” says Jeff Probst. “Kindly get out of my sight now. All of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been 84 freaking years since I’ve updated. For some reason, I was at a major block with this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it! The “Ed is a spoiled brat” plotline is one I was going to introduce last chapter, but I just didn’t have a time or place for it. You’ll find out next chapter where Heiderich has been and what he’s been up to!
> 
> And we haven’t seen the last of Carlos the Dolphin either :) 
> 
> We’re almost at the end! Next chapter, we eliminate someone else! Lan Fan won immunity, so we’re either saying goodbye to Roy, Ed, Greed, or Riza. I’m at that point where every elimination makes me sad because of how much I love to play with all of these characters. EEEEEEEP. WHO WILL IT BE? :D
> 
> Once again thank you for reading and being okay with my relentless teasing of these babies. Thank you for sticking with me for SO MANY WORDS AND CHAPTERS skjgsklgjhslgkjhsd.


	19. Episode 10 (Part 2)

Upon their return to camp, Riza grabs Ed by the collar of his shirt and drags him to a secluded area. He wishes to scream but thinks better of it when he remembers everything she knows. Ed can’t risk pissing her off lest she reveal all of his secrets to the tribe–or worse, Jeff Probst and the jury.

She sends him tumbling to the ground. He rubs his aching lower back and hisses, “What the hell?”

“I don’t think I need to explain myself,” Riza says. “The bottom line is, you’ve somehow gained access to food and water of far higher caliber than you were consuming even on a State Alchemist’s salary.”

Ed’s eyes go wide. He begins stringing together some sort of lie that will squelch her suspicions, however, she continues.

“I should have known that Alfons Heiderich was assisting you,” she says with a humorless chuckle. “That boy looks at you the way Hayate looks at frisbees.”

Ed is confused. He tilts his head. “I’m a…frisbee?”

“You’re a cheater,” says Riza. Though she speaks dispassionately, Ed is unsettled by the way she begins circling him. It’s oddly snakelike. “And the moment I decide to end you, in this game, I can.”

She stops. Ed twists his body so that he’s looking up at her. If he thought Lieutenant Hawkeye was intimidating in uniform, then with her wild hair, sagging clothes, dirt-caked face, and bloodshot eyes, she looks downright vicious.

“Lieutenant,” Ed says slowly, bringing his fingertips together, withering under her looming presence. “Have I ever told you that I’ve always thought of you as a motherly figure?”

“I want half of whatever Heiderich is giving you,” Riza says.

“Forget it!” Ed cries, shaking a fist in the air. “Get your own beef wellington!”

Riza’s eyes widen. She crosses her arms, refusing to waver. “Get my own, you say?”

She laughs. Ed thinks back, wondering if he has ever, in his life, heard Lieutenant Hawkeye laugh. It’s deeply unsettling.

“Suit yourself,” says Riza. She cups the side of her mouth and yells, “ _Colonel_! I have something to tell–”

Ed springs up, stretching up on his toes to cover Hawkeye’s mouth with his flesh hand. Her cold eyes pierce his.

Ed steps back, removing his hand, and sighs.

“Alright,” he says. He looks down at his feet. “We split it eighty, twenty.”

Riza raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Ed says with a pout. “Sixty, forty.”

“Fifty, fifty,” Riza says.

Ed is about to retort, but Riza adds, “Or perhaps I’ll be less careful with what I keep to myself tonight at tribal council.”

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Dammit!” he groans. His head falls into his hands. “Dammit, dammit, dammit, _dammit_! She’s got me cornered!” He looks up. “At this rate, I’m going to be in Lieutenant Hawkeye’s debt for the rest of my life. What else will she take? My other arm? Al’s body from the gate?”

* * *

“If Heiderich actually shows up this time,” Ed grumbles. “Dinner tonight is a half hour before tribal.”

* * *

Greed has situated on some rocks later that afternoon. There’s still quite some time until the tide raises. While the gentle waves lap at the rocks on which Greed sits, Carlos swims around the general area.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got,” says Greed.

He empties his pockets of what he’d stolen from Edward right after the immunity challenge.

Carlos splashes over, peeking his head over the water in curiosity.

“Crackers,” Greed says, setting the small pack of saltines on the surface of his rock. One by one, he arranges the objects in front of him. “Lip balm. Travel sized sunscreen. Automail oil.” Greed chews the inside of his gums, trying not to let this annoy him. “Hair ties. A…handheld lighter?” Greed examines it in his hand, then flicks it on. A small flame ignites.

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“What the hell!” Greed exclaims, lobbing Ed’s tube of sunscreen at the nearest tree. “How has this pisshead been smuggling items? And _more importantly_ , why hadn’t _I_ thought of a way first?”

* * *

The dolphin squees. Greed shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’re right, Carlos,” he says, opening the packet of crackers. “I can’t let him disrespect me like this on my own island.”

Carlos whistles.

“I mean, who does he think he is?” he asks, jamming a cracker into his mouth. Between chewing, he mumbles, “Using alchemy under everyone’s nose was one thing. But this? Oh, _hell no_. I will not–”

“Homunculus.”

Greed looks up. The wind dishevels Lan Fan’s hair as she approaches. Despite the immunity necklace around her neck, she looks dim. Or rather, totally beat.

Greed supposes he can’t really blame her. She is only a human, at the end of the day. Being on this island as long as they have would take its toll on anyone.

 _Are you sympathizing with humans again?_ Ling asks, amused.

“Piss off, prince,” Greed mutters.

Lan Fan tenses. “Did the young lord–”

“He likes to make himself known every now and again when the fic author remembers to give him lines,” Greed says. He yawns. “I just go with it. Now, what do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Lan Fan’s eyes flicker to the dolphin. It watches her carefully.

She stifles the unsettlement chewing her gut and takes a seat beside Greed. She can feel the dolphin’s cold eyes staring at her.

“I came to talk to you about tonight’s vote,” she says, absently touching the immunity necklace, as if she still cannot believe it’s hers tonight. “Specifically, Colonel Mustang.”

“I’m not voting for Mustang,” says Greed. He looks down at his loot with disgust. “I’m going for the pipsqueak.”

Lan Fan shakes her head exasperatedly. “Will you _listen_ to me? Between tribal council and my talk with Lieutenant Hawkeye some days ago, I have reasons that may entice you to vote with me.”

“I don’t care!” Greed snaps, and his displease causes Carlos to stir. “So far, he hasn’t given me a reason to write his name down.”

If Lan Fan didn’t know any better, she’d think the dolphin was _glaring_ at her.

She quickly shakes the thought. “I really don’t think you understand the enormity of what we’re dealing with here. Either you, Edward, the Colonel, Lieutenant, or myself will win Survivor. And that is determined by the jury. I suggest you start playing this game with your head instead of your avarice. The young lord’s livelihood is–”

“Answer me something,” Greed says, cutting her off with a raised palm. Lan Fan scowls. “Who is the one who’s been toughing it out, vying for immunity, and casting a vote at every tribal council? Sure as hell wasn’t the kid.”

“That matters not!” she says sharply. “It’s still his body.”

“I’m not playing for your bratty prince,” Greed says. “I’m playing because I want to. I want this experience. I want the title. The money. CBS. Jeff Probst. I want _everything_. And the sooner you get that through your skull, the sooner–”

“If you want to win so badly, perhaps you should consider hearing me out,” Lan Fan says irritably. “At this stage, nobody can be trusted. Not truly. Forming an alliance may save us both. As of now, we’re the only two without a safety net. As is, from the looks of it, Edward is protecting the Lieutenant.”

Greed pauses to consider this. He looks over at Carlos, as if asking what he thinks. The dolphin cries out.

“You make a good point,” he murmurs to him. “But–”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Lan Fan sighs. She grabs Greed by the collar of his shirt, bringing him close. He blanches. “Listen to me, homunculus. I don’t care about you or the absurd things you want. The only thing that matters is that I bring honor to the Yao clan. Either by winning myself, or pushing the young lord’s body on my behalf. That is all there is. So either you listen to what I have to say or I’ll break into that palace and set it ablaze. Do you understand me?”

“The place is flame-resistant,” says Greed. “I tried burning through the walls weeks ago.”

“I suppose I’ll have to settle for your special tree.”

Greed pries her fingers off of his shirt and scoots back in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Lan Fan’s eyes bore into his. She is not messing around.

Dejectedly, Greed slumps forward. He shrugs at Carlos, defeated, and reverts his attention to Lan Fan. “Alright, let’s hear this plan of yours.”

* * *

Afterward, while Lan Fan is preparing a fire, Riza joins her. Wordlessly, the two strengthen the fire until it is sufficiently effulgent. Riza sits back, tossing a scrap of wood into the mix.

“Colonel Mustang,” says Lan Fan, not looking at her.

Riza nods. “His reign of terror ends tonight.”

Lan Fan rubs over the broken plating of her automail. In truth, there isn’t a single person on this island she would protect, save the young lord’s body.  

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“The only thing driving me today,” she says, “is the tribe’s unanimous hatred of Roy Mustang.”

* * *

Lan Fan draws her knee up, resting her chin atop, against the stained, threadbare fabric of her baggy pants.

“Edward is voting with us too,” says Riza.

Lan Fan looks at her. Hawkeye is weary, but there is determination in her too. She is willing to see this through to the very end.

“How does it feel?” Lan Fan asks. “Knowing this is it? That after all of this, you and the Colonel will be severed?”

“Strange,” Riza admits. She shrugs. “But satisfying. I knew it was only a matter of time. Even if we’d made it to the end together, we couldn’t both win. And I know he refuses to lose, even if to me.”

* * *

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“It’s amazing to consider where I am now,” she says. “At the beginning of this game, I was willing to go down for the Colonel if necessary. But now?” She laughs softly. “This game brings out the truth in us. Because of that, I know this is the right decision.”

* * *

Riza sits on the beach after a pathetic fish dinner because Edward did not deliver as promised. Though, with the Colonel’s impending elimination, it doesn’t sour her mood.

Very much.

She hugs her knees, watching the tide push and pull over her toes. The space beside her occupies. When she looks over, it’s Colonel Mustang. She fights the instinct to recoil.

“What are you thinking?” he asks her, pulling his own knees up. His voice is gentle, reminding her of simpler times. Before her decision to backstab him. When they were just a man and a woman with palpable on-screen sexual tension. For a split second, she’s utterly disoriented.

But then he chuckles, and she sees the evil glint in his eye as he directs a smile toward the horizon.

“I,” she begins, then shakes her head. She curls her fingers into a hard fist, wishing she could punch that pompous grin off his face. “Just…tribal council. I feel like it could be any one of us.”

Roy smiles crookedly. Riza hates how attractive it is. She scolds herself, visualizing the bug bites pebbling his chest and stomach. It helps.

“Well, not tonight,” he says. “I spoke with Lan Fan, and I assume you did the same with Fullmetal. We’re sending Greed to the jury.”

He speaks with such certainty it would make Riza feel guilty if not for the underhanded way he betrayed each and every one of his allies when it came time to save his own skin.

* * *

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“He’s so good at this,” Riza says with a look of revulsion. “He looks at you with those dark eyes of his and you’re drawn in before you can even decide whether or not you want to be. And the way he speaks, the way he makes you _believe_ in him, it’s so captivating you want to ensure that all of his dreams become a reality. It’s reprehensible.”

* * *

“Lieutenant,” Roy says.

She looks at him, willing her heart to stop racing. Whether it’s from nerves, anxiety, or hatred she cannot really tell. But looking at him elicits something strong in her. Something dangerous.

“What is it?” she asks.

He reaches out, twirling a lock of her blond hair around his forefinger. Well, okay, a lock of whatever color her filthy hair is now.

“Sir,” Riza begins, completely frozen.

“We started this game on separate tribes,” he says, gently unraveling the strand of hair, letting it fall over her shoulder in a soft wave. “And now, here we are. Once again. Together. Me leading, you following. Breathing and existing in tandem like the very tide before us.”

“Uh…huh,” says Riza, her skin chilling the way it might if someone were raking their nails across a chalkboard.

“I just wanted you to know that I’d never take that for granted,” he says.

Riza’s head lifts with a start. She turns to him, sees that he doesn’t look at her, but shyly traces circles into the sand.

“Your loyalty means everything to me,” Roy goes on. “And every day that we’ve been on this island, I’m increasingly more grateful to have you at my back.” He finally meets her eyes, and Riza finds herself, for a moment, trapped.

“Thank you, Riza,” he says. And, goodness, does he sound like he means it.

Riza stares at him, at a total loss for words.

* * *

**Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Okay…what the _hell_ was that?”

* * *

“Sir,” Riza says, because she doesn’t know _what else_ to say. How does she even respond to something like that?

Roy sighs, then he jumps to his feet. Riza watches him as he places his hands on his hips, smiling toward the ocean.

“Well, another tribal, another backstabbing.” He stretches his hand out toward her. Riza reluctantly takes it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “Let’s go crush some dreams.”

// TRIBAL COUNCIL //

The final five walks into the tribal council hut and dips their torches into the fire. Jeff Probst waits at his usual podium. In his hand rests a translucent blue cup with a plastic top and straw. Inside there appears to be a purple carbonated beverage. He takes a sip as the castaways take their seats.

“What is that?” Ed asks.

“We got another sponsor,” says Jeff Probst. He snaps the top off and reveals a hidden compartment filled with small orange fish crackers. “Snackeez™”

Ed and Greed exchange a look.

“A….what?” Lan Fan asks.

“As seen on TV!” Jeff Probst exclaims. “Grape soda on the bottom, Goldfish on the top! You can eat as you travel without making a mess. It’s truly brilliant.”

Greed inches forward, his interest piqued. “Snackeez, you say.”

“No!” Jeff Probst snaps, the moment he sees the hunger in Greed’s eyes. “If you want your own, you’ll have to order on the website. Promo code ‘PROBST’.”

Greed sits back, crossing his arms. He grumbles under his breath.

Jeff Probst takes another sip and says, “I’ll now bring in the members of our jury.”

And so, they enter, and Jeff Probst names them off as they do.

“Winry, Alex, Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber…” Jeff Probst pauses, peering at Rebecca through slitted eyes as she takes her seat.

“I…” Jeff Probst jabs his temple with the heel of his hand. “What was it? Rebecca?”

Rebecca lights up.

“Wait, no, that can’t possibly be it.” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, it was Suzie, wasn’t it?”

Rebecca screams. Havoc takes her by the shoulders to calm her down. He lays his head against hers.

“Relax, my beautiful Riley,” he whispers.

Rebecca sags dejectedly.

Jeff Probst shakes his head, and then continues, “Yeah, whatever. Havoc. And…”

In comes Olivier Mira Armstrong, freshly showered, donning a stunning blazer and clean blouse. Sparkles twinkle in her path as she walks.

“Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong,” says Jeff Probst, weirdly reverential, “voted out in the last tribal council.”

Her glare flickers to Mustang. He smiles, offering her a small wave. She looks away with a snort, then notices the necklace around Lan Fan’s neck.

Olivier laughs sardonically. So her traitor is prospering, it seems. This game is truly one for snakes.

“So,” Jeff Probst says, setting his Snackee down once more. “We are at the final five. I’m sure the tribe tensions are running high as ever. Why don’t we talk a little about that?”

“Edward Elric,” says Lan Fan bluntly, “has grown unbearable.”

Ed tenses. Unable to believe his ears, his eyes swipe between one castaway to the next. “Is this true?”

He’s met with the tribe’s collective murmurs of agreement. Greed stares daggers at him.

“You bastards,” Ed whispers.

Roy groans. “Fullmetal, come on. This afternoon you refused to help with lunch because you said it would prune your fingers.”

“Come on! You were scaling dead fish! That’s gross!”

“But,” says Lan Fan, rolling her eyes. “Even he is preferable to Colonel Mustang.”

Riza inhales a tight breath. She looks down at her knees, thinking of their conversation today on the beach.

Could he have been bluffing just to throw her off?

Does the Colonel actually – Riza shakes her head. Now is not the time to be doubting her decision.

Miffed, and even somewhat offended, Roy scoffs. “Oh, sure, _I’m_ the worst on this tribe. It’s definitely not the island diva or the kleptomaniac.”

All eyes come to Greed. He hastily re-caps Ed’s lip balm and shoves it into his pocket.

Ed’s eyes widen. “Is that…?”

“I think we’re all focusing on the wrong thing here!” says Greed, waving his arm before Ed can get another word out. “Yeah, tensions are running high for most of the tribe. But maybe that’s because the Colonel is a slimy bastard who keeps getting away with murder.”

Roy scowls. “I haven’t done anything throughout this entire fanfic to get on your bad side. In fact, you might be the only person in this room that I haven’t personally pissed off. Besides the Lieutenant, of course, who remains immovably devoted to me.”

 _Yeah, he’s definitely going down,_ Riza thinks flatly.

Out loud, she says, “Immovably, sir.”

Ed’s heart sinks. _Diva?_ He stares down at his flesh hand. His sorrowful face is reflected in his freshly manicured fingernails.

 _Oh my god_ , Ed thinks, eyes lifting. Horror floods his chest. _Who am I becoming?_

Then he looks down again. There’s a chip on the side of his thumbnail, likely from today’s challenge. A tiny growl escapes him.

Ed slaps himself in the face.

 _This needs to stop_. He clenches his fist. _You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist, for fuck’s sake. You_ need _to get it together_.

“Roy,” Jeff Probst muses. “You being the topic of conversation at a tribal council has almost become a regular thing. How _have_ you managed to stay alive in this game despite all of this?”

Olivier snorts from the jury bench.

“Is that even a question?” Ed says. “If there’s anyone who knows how to work a human being, it’s the Colonel. He’s been scheming and manipulating from the womb.”

“No one on this tribe particularly likes him,” Lan Fan goes on. She shoots Riza a knowing look, then adds, “well, except for, uh, Lieutenant Hawkeye. For reasons unknown.”

“Oh.” Riza stiffens, taken aback. “We are…what was it, Colonel?”

“Thick as thieves, Lieutenant.”

“Yes,” says Riza, swallowing.

“Regardless,” Lan Fan goes on. “As the remaining players dwindle, it’s becoming increasingly clearer where everyone stands. I do have confidence that the truth will come to light tonight.”

“You can only take something so far, right?” Jeff Probst asks.

Anxiety winds Riza’s stomach into knots. She rubs her clamming hands against her lap.

“Riza?” Jeff Probst prompts.

She looks up, feeling her tribe mates’ eyes practically burning through her clothes. Even having had an on-screen shower scene, this is still the most exposed that she’s ever felt.

“Yes?” she asks evenly.

“What do you make of all this?”

Riza takes a few measured breaths, willing her jogging heart to steady. Beside her, the Colonel watches her face with intent focus.

“I think,” she says slowly, choosing her words, “that Lan Fan is correct. The closer we get to the end, the more honest the game becomes.”

“But what does that mean for the alliances in this game?” Jeff Probst asks. “Are you suggesting that a blindside is inevitable?”

“Nothing is inevitable,” Ed says. “Not in this game.”

“Well, there is the fact that I’ve got this entire game in the bag,” says Greed, to the clear annoyannce of his companions.

“You know what?” Roy says, bracing his hands against his knees, “Let’s talk about the homunculus for a second. Because I’ve just about had it with–”

“With _what,_ Colonel?” Greed asks with a sneer. “What could I have possibly done to piss anybody off?” He begins counting off on his fingers. “I don’t get in anyone’s way, I have yet to blindside an ally–”

“Because you don’t _have_ any!” Ed shouts. Greed blinks. “And maybe you would if you didn’t act so entitled all the time!”

“You shut your mouth!” Greed snaps, pointing at him. He ignores the way his chest tightens at the boy’s words. “I could smell the paella on your breath from across the beach the other day!”

Jeff Probst rubs his belly. He remembers the paella he had the other day. He smiles to himself. He can’t get enough of those tiny shrimp.

Lan Fan nudges Riza and murmurs, “What is he talking about?”

“All Greed has done since his arrival is eat our food, steal our stuff, and pace around Fuhrer Bradley’s palace like a psycho!” Ed cries, stomping his foot.

Greed rolls his eyes, raising his palms mockingly. “Okay, first of all, I don’t _steal_ anything. I established, from chapter 1, that everything on this island was already mine.”

“You take advantage of us,” Roy says, shrugging when Greed’s furious glower lands on him. “Yesterday Lan Fan asked for help carrying wood for the fire and you were too busy throwing pebbles at Bradley’s palace window to even look at her!”

“Oh, please,” says Greed, “she could have carried it on her own.”

“She has _one arm_!” Roy exclaims.

“And whose fault is that?” Greed looks between him, Ed, and Riza. “Hmm? If I recall correctly–”

“You’re missing the point!” Ed cries. “This isn’t about Lan Fan or the way Winry stabbed her in the back.”

“Ex _cuse me_?” Winry growls from the bench.

“Be quiet!” Jeff Probst hisses at her. “You’ll get your chance to speak in Episode 13!”

She sinks back in her seat, directing a steely look at Edward.

“How has Greed managed to stay in the game this long?” Roy asks. “Nobody even _likes_ him!”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Greed grumbles. “You’ve been on the chopping block practically every episode since we’ve arrived.”

A wry grin touches Roy’s lips. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

 _Not for long_ , Riza thinks sourly, though she remains indifferent at face value.

“I think we can agree that everyone who remains in this game is disliked by majority of the players, jury and tribe alike,” says Lan Fan tiredly. She scrubs at her eyes, so done and over with this entire tribal council. “Riza Hawkeye is a backstabber, the Colonel is a snake, the homunculus is delusional, and Edward is simply insufferable.”

Now, everyone crossly redirects their attention on Lan Fan.

“I think it is time to vote!” Jeff Probst exclaims, taking a final sip out of his Snackee straw. He nods at Lan Fan. “Lan Fan, you have the immunity necklace, you can either keep it or give it to someone else.”

“I want it,” Greed says.

“I’ll be keeping it.” Lan Fan rolls her eyes.

“You cannot vote for Lan Fan,” says Jeff Probst. “Everybody else is fair game. Lan Fan, you’re up.”

The tribal council music rises to a crescendo as her cue. Lan Fan stands up and makes her way down the path to the voting table.

She scrawls her vote on the provided parchment and holds it up to the camera.

“I betrayed the General because I knew I could not win against her, should it come to the two of us” says Lan Fan. She folds her vote in half. “Survival of the fittest, right?”

The next to go up is Riza. She takes a deep breath. As she walks, her heart pounds so furiously, she can feel it in her throat.

Is she really about to do this? Betray the man she swore her life to? The man to whom she entrusted all of her father’s most dangerous secrets?

The man she vowed to follow into hell?

She arrives to the voting station and picks the pen up with shaking fingers. Swallowing her nerves, she uncaps it and writes down a name.

 _Colonel Mustang_.

She holds it up, staring into the camera without a hint of remorse. “Thick as thieves, sir.”

Riza sits down, rubbing her clammy hands against her lap. Almost poetically, the next to rise is Roy. He winks at Riza before turning away. It adds a weight to her chest.

 _What’s done is done_ , she thinks, clenching her fists. _No going back_.

Roy returns, casual as ever. He laces his fingers behind his head, watching as Edward stands up to cast his own vote.

At the table, he scribbles a name and holds it up.

 _Mustang_.

“Look,” Ed whispers, “I have to do it, okay? Hawkeye’s _crazy_! If I went against her, she’d ruin me.” He pauses, sucking his cheeks contemplatively. Then he shakes his head. “You know what? I would have voted for your conniving ass anyway, Colonel. You’re the worst.”

He drops the vote into the pot and returns.

The final vote is Greed and despite his better judgment, he votes alongside Lan Fan. Because while he hates going against his gut, he hates the thought of her burning his tree far more.

“Nothing personal,” Greed says with a shrug. “But I’m not ready to get on Lan Fan’s bad side.”

Greed comes back, after which point, Jeff Probst says, “I’ll tally the votes.”

When Jeff Probst returns, he sets the pot on the podium’s surface right beside his Snackee.

“Once the votes are read, the decision is final….”

As Jeff Probst goes on, Greed glances around the hut. Something looks terribly off. It’s when he concentrates on the empty area over Jeff Probst’s shoulder that the realization dawns on him.

“Hey,” Greed says, interrupting him mid-sentence. Jeff Probst directs a growl his way. Greed waves his hand. “Where’s your flunkie?”

“I’m here!”

Red in the face, Alfons Heiderich strides in with a manila envelope tucked under his arm. He bows his head and says, “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Jeff Probst breathes heavily. How dare Heiderich interrupt him _at this moment, of all moments?_

“Are you done?” he asks his assistant harshly.

Heiderich gulps, then looks to the castaways. Ed’s face is buried in his hands. Heiderich stares down at his shoes in shame.

Jeff Probst turns his head back toward the castaways, violently clearing his throat.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he says. “Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

Riza wills her hands to stop shaking. She tucks them between her legs and waits.

“First vote,” says Jeff Probst. He brings it out, revealing it to everyone. “Colonel Mustang.”

Roy almost sputters a laugh. He knows that handwriting. It’s the very same he’s read on his own incompleted paperwork for years.

He looks at the Lieutenant, shaking his head. Riza takes a shuddering breath.

“Second vote.” He removes it from the pot, then opens it. “Mustang. That’s two votes Roy.”

Roy leans back, chuckling under his breath. So _two_ people betrayed him tonight. They must think themselves so clever right now.

He watches Jeff Probst with a smile, tapping his fingers against his knees from anticipation.

“Third vote.” Jeff Probst pulls it out. When it’s revealed, Riza feels all the air leave her lungs. “Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

She says nothing, but her heart stalls in her chest. Who could have possibly–

Jeff Probst displays the next vote. “Hawkeye. That’s two votes Roy, two votes Riza.”

Riza casts a sidelong look at Edward who has gone completely pale. He appears just as stunned as she is, if not more.

Jeff Probst removes the final vote. He reads it, then says, “Twelfth person voted out of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the seventh member of our jury.” He turns it around. Riza feels completely breathless. “Riza. Bring me your torch.”

Riza stands up, dizzied by her own astonishment. She grabs her torch, and when she walks past Colonel Mustang, he chuckles.

“Thick as thieves, Lieutenant,” he whispers.

At this point, Riza realizes that she has, literally, nothing to lose.

She spits on his knee.

Roy jumps up with a swear. He swipes at his pants – windbreakers that spell the word AMESTRIS vertically down the leg – and demands, “What the _hell_?”

Riza presents her torch to Jeff Probst, and as he raises his snuffing tool, she stops him.

“Wait,” Riza says. She looks back at the jury. Ed stiffens, paling to the roots of his hair.

“Lieutenant, please,” he whispers.

But Riza has no mercy. Not tonight.

“Jeff Probst, there’s something you should know,” says Riza, her voice steady despite feeling like she’d just been bludgeoned.

“What is it?” he asks. This had better be important for her to be delaying his big line.

Riza points over at her tribe and says, “Edward Elric has been using alchemy on the island. It’s how he fixed Colonel Mustang’s shirt.”

Jeff Probst drops his snuffer. In slow motion, it strikes the floor with a loud clatter.

The entire tribe falls into an uncomfortable silence. At least until Olivier laughs out loud. She shakes her head, wiping a fake tear from the corner of her eye.

“I knew it,” she says.

Jeff Probst takes a few steps forward. The tension in the air is palpable enough to suffocate Ed. Every gaze in the tribal council hut is now on him. He shrinks back.

“I…” Ed begins, drawing his knees up, trying to make himself as scarce as possible.

“Well, Edward?” Jeff Probst deadpans. “Is this true?”

“I…I…I”

“Jeff Probst, Riza Hawkeye is a liar!”

Heiderich steps forward, sweating from the effort of that outburst. He shakily lifts the envelope in his hand.

Riza arches her brows. “I’m a what?”

“A…a _liar_!” Heiderich says again. His confidence builds the longer he looks at his brother, who continues to cower in fear.

Ed peeks up from behind his knees. What is Heiderich doing? Is _this_ where he’s been these past two chapters? Preparing for…whatever this is?

Heiderich, now realizing he has the full attention of the tribe, jury, and Jeff Probst, fights the inclination to step back.

 _No_ , he thinks, and straightens up. He will not be anyone’s lackey. Not tonight. Not when his brother is counting on him.

“The only one who performed alchemy on this island is the Lieutenant,” Heiderich says. “She’s the one who broke the ultimate rule. _Committed the ultimate taboo_ , as some might say.”

Riza snorts. Ed pulls his buff down so that it covers his eyes. Everyone in the hut settles back, murmuring amongst themselves.

Jeff Probst hesitates for a moment, then stutters, “I-is that true?”

“No!” Riza says exasperatedly. “Obviously not! I’m not even an alchemist.”

Heiderich shoves past her violently enough to make her stumble. “I beg to differ,” he says. He opens the manila envelope and as he reaches inside.

He hands Jeff Probst a stack of professionally printed photos.

“Where did you develop these?” Jeff Probst asks, studying the stack.

“The CBS darkroom, of course. I’ve been there all week.”

Jeff Probst rifles through the images. His eyes widen in shock. He looks up at Riza and asks, “Riza, would you care to explain these?”

“Explain what?” she asks. None too kindly, she marches over and snatches the stack from his hands. She begins flipping through them. The collection is comprised of poorly photoshopped images of her face haphazardly pasted onto Edward’s while he’s transmuting Jeff Probst’s pile of blue shirts.

“Are you kidding?” she asks, throwing the stack to the ground. At least thirty to forty pictures flutter through the air and spread across the floor. One lands by Roy’s foot. He picks it up, his eyebrows raising.

“You used alchemy on the island,” Jeff Probst starts.

“Okay, _no_!” Riza swipes a picture off the floor and shoves it into Jeff Probst’s face. “These photos are _clearly_ doctored!”

“Lieutenant, I had no idea you were an alchemist,” says Roy. He narrows his eyes at her. “What _else_ have you been keeping from me all these years?”

“I’m _not_ an alchemist!” Riza shouts, waving the picture over her head. “And shut up, you traitor! Thick as thieves? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Riza,” says Jeff Probst, shaking his head in lament. “You know the price you must pay for using alchemy on the–”

“You can _see_ Edward’s automail! Right here in the picture!”

“How dare you try and frame my poor brother!” Heiderich exclaims. “After everything he’s been through! Losing his mother, losing his _limbs_.” He laughs sardonically. “I should have known. After you so selfishly voted the lesser Alphonse off the island in Episode 2.”

“Y-yeah,” Ed cuts in, opting not to make note of the fact that Heiderich just called Al “lesser.” He buries his face into his knees and begins to fake-cry. “Can you just snuff the Lieutenant’s flame already? I’m…scared.”

“Are you joking?” Riza turns to Jeff Probst, incredulous. “Are you going to believe him? He’s been stealing from you for episodes now! Your food, lotion, shampoo–”

“I’ve done no such thing!” Heiderich says, innocently bringing ahand to his chest. He tugs Jeff Probst’s sleeve. “Sir, remember what I told you. It’s Seacrest who’s been stealing from you.”

“That’s right,” Jeff Probst says, looking at Riza with accusation. “Heiderich would never. And the fact that you would try to bring poor Edward down with you? It’s simply disgusting.”

Riza shakes her head, muttering, “What in the everloving fuck is happening right now?”

“Riza,” Jeff Probst says, “This is unforgivable. And so, not only has the tribe spoken, but you are officially disqualified.”

“Fine,” she laughs in defeat. Under her breath, she adds, “This is completely asinine.”

Jeff Probst looks down at his snuffing tool, then signals for Heiderich. Eager to please, the boy rushes over and picks the snuffer up off the ground. He hands it to Jeff Probst.

He clears his throat with dramatic flair and, for the second time, says, “Riza, the tribe has spoken.” He snuffs her torch. She shoves it against Heiderich’s chest and walks out of the hut.

When Riza is gone, Jeff Probst allows himself to ease the tension that has befallen the hut with a laugh.

“Well _that_ was the wildest tribal we’ve had all season. I think you all have quite a bit to talk about.” He nods. “Grab your stuff and head back to camp.”

As the castaways prepare to leave, and the jury sits in absolutely stunned silence, Jeff Probst looks down at the picture-littered floor in disgust.

“Hohenheim of light, clean this up!” he calls out, and then makes his exit.

The first to move is General Armstrong. She looks Mustang dead in the eye and says, “You absolute filth.”

“Thank you, Olivier,” he says, slipping his photoshopped picture of Riza into his pocket. “It really does mean the world coming from a member of the jury.”

“I can’t believe you guys blindsided her,” Ed says.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Did anyone honestly think I was _that_ dense? I knew she was conspiring against me for several episodes. I was only biding my time.”

“You slick bastard,” Ed murmurs.

“I’ve got to be honest,” Greed says, admittedly still bitter about the way he’d been roasted prior to the vote. “I didn’t think you had it in you to go through with it.”

“Neither did I,” Lan Fan says.

“Wait,” Ed looks between them. “You mean this was your plan all along?” Suddenly furious, he crows, “Why didn’t anyone tell _me_?”

“Because we knew you were protecting her,” Roy says with a shrug. “We couldn’t risk you telling the Lieutenant. We were willing to throw your vote away since we had the numbers.”

Ed’s head drops into his hands. “I am so tired.”

“Congratulations, Fullmetal,” says Roy. “You’re a free man.”

 

* * *

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Riza Hawkeye**

“I don’t have any words to describe what just transgressed,” says Riza, shaking her head. “So I won’t even attempt to. But I leave my tribe with this. Come the final tribal council, when the power shifts into the hands of the jury, I’m more than curious to know how any of the remaining players will effectively convince me to vote in their favor.”

* * *

 _Votes:_  
Lan Fan: Riza Hawkeye  
Riza: Roy Mustang  
Roy: Riza Hawkeye  
Ed: Roy Mustang  
Greed: Riza Hawkeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Hurt. So. Much. 
> 
> Riza, my babe. I am sorry. So sorry. I love you.
> 
> I’ve been planning for this specific chapter for A LOOOONG time. Riza’s rise and fall was definitely a fun arc to play with. (Also, back when Heiderich told Ed “Regarding Riza Hawkeye, I have a plan.” This was it :D) 
> 
> Soooo, my favorite character in the FMA canon was just voted off the island. NO ONE IS SAFE. sakjghsakdjhgsakjhsakjhas I hope you liked this chapter! I hope it wasn’t totally unfunny and nonsensical.
> 
> Also, Roy’s Amestris windbreakers are the brilliant idea/design of Shay (the-flame-and-hawks-eye) as per her amazing drawing (in the SNA tag on my Tumblr, the-musical-alchemist). 
> 
> OKAY SO. NEXT CHAPTER. We’ll find out more about Roy’s decision to betray Riza, and why exactly Lan Fan was on board. (Note that when she talks to Greed, she never specifically says she wants to vote Roy out, just that she wants to talk about Roy and the impending elimination) We’re at the final four. That means we have two eliminations left. WHO WILL BE NEXT? :D


	20. Episode 11 (Part 1)

After tribal council, Roy isn’t entirely sure what it is he’s feeling. Naturally, it begins with the obligatory triumph that comes with blindsiding an enemy. But beneath that, he’s overcome with something else. It doesn’t fully dawn on him until Ed, Greed, Lan Fan and himself are lying down to rest, and there’s a cold, empty space beside him.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Through Chimera!Tucker’s night vision lens, Roy has taken on a pale green hue. He smirks, though his eyes are empty.

“There really isn’t anything to say,” Roy says. “Hawkeye definitely had me going for longer than I would have cared to admit. But the moment I realized she had it out for me, I knew it was only a matter of time until I had to take action.”

Roy runs a tired hand through his hair. He sighs. “The fact is, there can only be _one_ sole survivor.” His eyes flick up to meet the camera’s. “And Hawkeye was crazy if she thought, for one second, that it wouldn’t be me.”

* * *

“Colonel, will you stop making noise?” Ed mumbles. He’s curled up under a pile of seaweed he’s somehow knotted into a blanket.

Roy doesn’t realize he’d been tapping his fingernails against a coconut until he freezes and the island lapses back into silence.

He hugs the coconut to his chest. Since when did he have nervous ticks?

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“But things are…weird, to say the least,” he admits.

* * *

After lying awake for two hours, Roy decides it’s unlikely he’ll be getting any sleep tonight. He opts to take a walk around the island, using nothing but the starlight to guide him.

* * *

Who could say for how long this listless drifting continues? Before Roy even realizes it, the sun rises, and he is still dragging his feet through the sand.

It’s only when he bumps straight into Lan Fan the next morning that he’s broken out of his trance.

“Colonel,” she says, straightening up.

Roy’s eyes gloss over. He runs a hand down his face and murmurs, “What time is it?”

“Mid-morning, at the very least,” she replies. She takes in his disheveled appearance and asks, “Have you slept at all?”

Roy blinks hard, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes with a low moan. Had he been walking around in circles all night?

“I should get the Lieutenant,” Roy says finally, his arms falling to his sides. “And we can start a fire for…” He falls silent. Lan Fan gazes puzzledly.

“Uh,” she says.

“Hawkeye.” Roy’s head drops. His shoulders shake with miserable laughter. “Hawkeye isn’t here anymore.”

“No…” says Lan Fan. She studies him warily. “You personally saw to that, remember?”

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“Of course I voted for Lieutenant Hawkeye. I had no intention of writing the Colonel’s name,” Lan Fan says. She leans back against a palm tree, setting her hand on her hip. “He’s by far the most hated player in this game. I’d be a fool if I didn’t ensure his place beside me at the final tribal council. There isn’t any way in hell he is getting jury votes in _his_ favor. Not after all this.”

* * *

Roy nods, his lip pulling into a lopsided grin. “Of course.”

He chuckles to himself as he walks past Lan Fan and toward the shore. He wades into the ocean and then dips his head underwater, looking dazed and vacant.

Over by the fire pit, Ed watches Mustang’s odd display of grief with a contemptuous look.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“The Colonel is making direct contact with water,” Ed says, jerking his thumb toward the ocean. “Of his _own_ volition.” He crosses his arms. “Something isn’t right.”

* * *

Roy floats on his back, the sunlight spilling warmth across the front of his body. He closes his eyes.

“No need to hate water here,” Roy mumbles. “Not like I can transmute anyway.”

His heart constricts in his chest.

 _Flame Alchemy. Hawkeye’s alchemy_.

Roy flails and sinks underwater. Choking on saltwater, he resurfaces, swiping at his eyes, coughing violently.

Once he catches his breath, he brings his fist down with a splash. He peers through the cracks of his wet fringe that sticks to his forehead.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he mumbles to himself. “You know it had to be done.”

* * *

Ed finds himself in the jungle, limping toward he and Heiderich’s usual meeting spot. For the first time in days, he finds his fake brother waiting with a brown cardboard box. One of the _fancier_ biodegradable doggy bags.

His mouth waters. He’d been able to smell the buttery croissant for several meters now.

“Brother!” Heiderich greets brightly. He pops the box open, its heavenly aroma caressing Ed’s senses.

“Yeah, hey,” says Ed, inching forward. He licks his lips, staring into the box. There lies a toasted croissant, lightly brushed with garlic butter that glistens under the sunlight. When Heiderich pushes the sandwich closer to Ed, he can see that inside there is bacon, fresh vegetables, a poached egg, the CBS buffet’s secret sauce, and to top it all off, crumbles of gorgonzola cheese. Ed’s favorite.

“And,” Heiderich says, lifting a finger. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a snack-sized packet of nutella. He slips it into Ed’s hand. “For your sweet tooth later.”

“Well,” Ed says, dropping the nutella into his pocket. “It’s the least you could do after you were missing all of last episode.”

Heiderich frowns. “Brother, I’m sorry. You know I was preparing the photos–”

“Whatever,” Ed says dismissively. “You’re forgiven.” His golden eyes water at the sight of that croissant. He reaches for it with his left hand, but the moment his dirty fingers come in contact with the toasted delicacy, he pauses.

Slowly, his eyes lift to meet Heiderich’s. Ed takes a gulp, feeling his heart race.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“No,” Ed says, closing his eyes. “I promised I would change. I’m not going to become a monster. Not while I still have to appear as a lovable shounen protagonist in the canon.”

* * *

“Heiderich,” Ed says, bringing his hand down. He takes a deep breath and surrenders to the guilt gnawing away at his stomach. “Scrape off the gorgonzola.”

Heiderich looks down at the sandwich sadly. “But, brother–”

“Dammit!” Ed yells, seizing the sandwich and hurling it to the ground. It falls directly on top of a fire-ant pile. They begin devouring it at once. “I can’t do this anymore! My brother doesn’t even have a stomach and here I am, eating escargot for lunch every day. Who have I become?”

Heiderich looks down, the word _BROTHER_ flashing in bold red letters in the boy’s head. Considering _he_ has a stomach, Edward can only be talking about the… _other_ Alphonse.

“You’ve become happier,” Heiderich whispers. “You have food to eat and a brother to love you. What more could you want?”

“This isn’t happiness!” Ed shouts. He jams the heel of his automail leg into the sandwich causing secret sauce to squirt all over the ant pile.

Heiderich brings his hands to his mouth, choking back a gasp.

“I’m…not a good example anymore,” Ed says, looking down at the floor. “What happened to the prodigal hero with unyieldingly good morals and an altruistic backstory? That used to be _me_ , Heiderich!”

Heiderich stops to consider this. True that perhaps Ed has become somewhat of a freeloader. And, yes, he does snap at him more often than not. But, certainly he’s far happier than he could have ever been with Alphonse Elric. When has _he_ ever given Ed truffles made by the most prestigious chocolatier in the Western hemisphere?

“I wanted to win Survivor so that I could buy Al’s body back from Truth,” Ed mumbles with a frown. “When did I become so selfish?”

“You’re not selfish!” Heiderich exclaims, dropping the empty cardboard box and placing his hands on Ed’s tiny shoulders. “And unlike _him_ , I’d never make you feel that way.”

Ed shakes Heiderich off, shoving his hands into his pockets. He chuckles, then glances at Heiderich over his shoulder.

“Maybe I need this,” Ed says with a soft smile. “To live the way the other players are living. Not eating luxury foods, but surviving off the island and nothing more.”

Heiderich’s eyes go wide. “Brother, that’s crazy. Why would you put yourself through that?”

“Because a lesson without pain is meaningless,” says Ed. He pulls his automail hand out from his pocket. It has one thumb left. He curls it in. “"They just don’t exist, Heiderich. Sacrifices, like this food, are necessary. You can’t gain anything without losing something first.” He smiles, looking up at his fake brother. Heiderich takes a step back.

“Although,” Ed goes on, “if you can endure the hunger pains, and walk away from them, you’ll find that you now have a heart strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Yeah…” He sighs, running his hand over his rusted automail forearm. “A heart made fullmetal.”

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“Huh,” says Ed. “That was really profound. I should use that monologue again sometime.”

* * *

“But…” Heiderich’s eyes flicker between the fallen sandwich to Ed. “Brother, what does that have to do with eating rotten bananas and insipid fish?”

“Everything.” Ed walks over to Heiderich and presses the nutella packet into his palm. The weight of Ed’s gaze takes his fake brother by the heart. “No more food, Heiderich.”

Heiderich cannot deny the overwhelming surge of pride he feels for his brother making such a humble decision.

But still.

Heiderich looks down with a swallow. “Brother, does this mean I can’t come visit you anymore?”

“Uh…” Ed is about to say that obviously this means he can’t come visit him anymore. If anything the upside to this entire decision is cutting ties with Heiderich before he gets too attached.

But then he sees the pleading look in his eyes. And dammit, if this kid doesn’t look disturbingly like Al. Perhaps that’s what drives him to respond the way he does.

“Aw, of course not, Heiderich!” Ed says with a forced smile.

Heiderich beams. “So, I keep coming three times a day? We can still watch the sunset–”

“Yeah, maybe not _every_ day.” Ed backs away, averting his eyes. “How about every other day? For, I dunno, ten minutes?”

Heiderich is overcome with relief. So his brother _hasn’t_ been using him after all. He genuinely cares for him. He wants to see him regularly, even without the food.

Ed _loves_ him.

Heiderich steps closer to Ed, and Ed does everything in his power not to move back. Heiderich reaches into his backpack and pulls out a stack of flashcards. Ed eyes them skeptically.

“This is really modest of you, brother,” Heiderich says, grinning proudly. “So i think that warrants a reward.” He hands the flashcards to Ed.

He leafs through them. They’re a series of words, places, and activities that mean nothing to Ed.

“What is this?” Ed asks, lifting his eyes.

“Flip the cards over for the questions,” Heiderich whispers.

Ed turns over a card that marked _Theodent_ and reads, “What is Jeff Probst’s preferred brand of toothpaste?”

Heiderich nods excitedly. “Consider this a cheat sheet for tomorrow’s challenge.”

Ed inhales a swift breath. Exhilaration sparks his veins. He looks down at the cards, now with more hunger than he’d been coveting this morning’s breakfast sandwich.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

Ed is officially beyond feeling guilty for cheating. Not when it comes to immunity. He paces the confessional area from his own excitement.

“I…I _needed_ this,” Ed says. He stops in front of the camera. “It’s more than obvious the Colonel was going to try and get back at me for writing his name down last tribal council. Without immunity, I’m done for. This couldn’t have come at a better time.”

* * *

“Wow,” Ed says. He looks up, warm appreciation blossoming in his stomach. “Thanks, Heiderich.”

Heiderich smiles and starts away. Before he disappears into the trees, he says, “Take care, brother. I’ll see you at tomorrow’s challenge.” He winks. “In the _winner’s_ circle.”

* * *

When Ed returns to the beach, he finds his tribe sitting around a dwindling fire, each with a fish in hand.

Ed sits down in between Greed and Roy and says, “Man, I’m starving. This smells amazing.”

It doesn’t. It smells of saltwater and despair. But Ed can hardly bring himself to care when his ticket to the final three is heavy in his pocket.

Lan Fan glances up from her fish, mouth full. Greed and Roy exchange a baffled look. Ed smiles with confusion.

“What?” he asks.

Lan Fan swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “We only made three fish.”

“You never eat with us,” says Roy, sucking on a fish bone.

“But what about the fish Lan Fan made for me last episode?” Ed asks.

“That was different,” Lan Fan replies. “Everyone knows I was only trying to stay in everyone’s good graces.”

When Ed looks at Greed, he sees a huge smile split across his face.

Ed scowls. “Do you have something to say?”

Greed explodes with laughter.

“Of course,” Ed mutters.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen!” Greed howls, holding his stomach with one hand, waving his fish with the other. “Hey, hey!” He hunches over, pointing at Ed. “What happened to your special crackers? Your sunscreen? Your–” He cuts himself off with a wheeze. He gestures speechlessly at Ed, flushing from hysteria.

Lan Fan continues to eat. She nods at Roy and asks, “I don’t think I’ve actually seen you get wet since the last water challenge.”

The ends of Roy’s hair continue to drip. He tosses his finished fish bone over his shoulder and then combs his fingers through it.

“THIS IS TOO PERFECT!” Greed cries, still in stitches over Ed’s predicament. He falls against the sand.

“Hey, shut up!” Ed yells, kicking his legs. “You don’t know anything!”

Roy rummages through the pocket of his windbreakers and pulls out a photo. Lan Fan stares at him.

“Where did you get that?” she asks.

Roy looks down at it with a sigh. It’s one of the doctored Hawkeye photos from tribal council. He runs his thumb across her poorly inserted face.

“What do you think Hawkeye is doing right now?” Roy asks, his head snapping up.

Greed’s laughter comes to a stop. He sits up, giving Roy a flat look. Lan Fan continues eating. Ed glances back at the Colonel’s discarded fish bone, indecisively biting his lip.

“Probably taking a shower,” Lan Fan mumbles through a mouthful of fish.

“Brushing her teeth,” Ed adds, already missing the spearmint toothpaste Heiderich will no longer be supplying him with.

Roy frowns, digging his toes into the sand. Why is this getting to him all of a sudden? He’d been so calm and collected when push came to shove at tribal council. Now is not the time to second guess his decisions. Especially not when there are only two eliminations left until the winner is decided.

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“So on one end, we’ve got the spoiled runt.” Greed rolls his eyes. The haughtiness he exudes is almost palpable. “And then Colonel Codependent over here is developing separation anxiety. Lan Fan is the only normal player left.” He throws his hands in the air. “And even _she_ threatened to set my tree on fire!”

He shakes his head and mumbles, “This is why I don’t have friends, only followers.”

* * *

“Wait,” Ed says. “We still haven’t solved this problem.”

“What problem?” Roy asks, slipping the picture into the collar of his shirt.

“I’m hungry!” Ed shouts. “What am I supposed to eat?”

Lan Fan tosses her fish bone into the fire and brushes her palm against her lap. “I don’t know. Hunt for yourself. Didn’t you say your alchemy teacher forced you to live in an island for thirty days? How difficult can this possibly be for you?”

Ed chokes on a whimper. He once again, directs his attention to the fish bone.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric  
**

Ed slaps his cheeks with both hands and mumbles, “Pull yourself together. You’re _not_ going to eat anyone’s leftover fish bones. You’re better than that. You have more dignity.”

* * *

“Well.” Ed gets up, sighing as he shakes sand off of his metal leg. “I guess I’m off to find my own food.”

The others watch him as he departs. Greed looks down, biting his lip to keep from bursting into another fit of laughter. When he’s finally out of earshot, Mustang rests his forearms on his knees and tilts forward.

“So our target is definitely Fullmetal,” he says.

“Absolutely,” Lan Fan agrees without hesitation. “Even setting aside his self-entitled behavior, it isn’t impossible that he’d win in a jury vote. Not to mention the obvious fact that Jeff Probst’s assistant is partial to him.”

“Ah, whatever,” Greed says. He leans back, tearing the last bits of fish off of its bone with his teeth. He tosses it away. “Who even cares anymore? At this point, it could be any of you.”

“Us?” Roy mumbles, cocking his eyebrows.

Lan Fan takes a deep breath. She reminds herself that, at the end of the day, it is Ling’s body. He resides in there somewhere.

* * *

Ed sits on the jungle floor, staring at a hunting trap he constructed out of palm leaves and sticks. He’d fished his deserted croissant out of the ant pile moments before setting it as bait. Any minute now, an animal will fall prey to him.

“Come on,” Ed murmurs, poking the ant-infested sandwich with a twig. “I’m so hungry.”

If Hawkeye were still on the island, she could have probably shot a bird out of the air for him in no time. He wonders if she ever did something like that for Al or Winry on their old tribe.

Ed pulls his legs up, setting his chin atop his knees. He closes his eyes, falling tired under the sun’s unrelenting heat. He tries to ignore the way the rusted edges of his automail scald his skin.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I can’t believe how long it’s been,” Ed says, scratching the back of his head. “It barely feels like any time has passed since Al and I were abducted by the-musical-alchemist and forced into this crappy fanfic. And here I am, Day Twenty-Five. I’ve managed to outplay and outlast twelve other characters.” He slams his fist into his metal palm. “But that’s still not enough. I won’t be satisfied until it’s my name being read at the final tribal council.” Ed grits his teeth in a very anime fashion. “I owe that to Al. And Winry, Teacher, and everyone who didn’t last.”

* * *

It isn’t until nightfall when Ed gives up. Lying on his back, fatigued from both hunger and heat, he glances at the sandwich, now soggy due to the island’s humidity. His stomach growls in encouragement.

“I…could,” Ed whispers, bringing his hand closer to it. An ant crawls over his finger. He brings it close to his face, parting his lips.

“Food,” he says.

He opens his mouth, bringing the ant close, and then stops himself.

“Wait a minute.” Ed sits up, bringing his fist to his forehead. “No, no, no. I totally already had this ‘all is one and one is all’ realization. And the ants tasted like shit. What am I thinking?” He jumps to his feet, then sways from dizziness.

“Auughh,” he moans, holding his head in his hands as he feels ground undulate under his feet. He takes a slow breath and focuses.

“Okay.” He bounds forward, pumping his arms. Newfound adrenaline courses through him. “I can do this.” He breaks into a run, shouting, “Yeah!”

He makes it a grand total of ten feet before he finds Heiderich’s nutella packet from earlier lying on the ground. He must have dropped it before leaving today.

Ed falls to his knees, picking it up with wide eyes. Then he looks up. Conveniently, a hand of bananas hangs from the tree right above his head.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“I guess this works out too,” Ed says with a shrug.

* * *

For the remainder of the night, he studies Heiderich’s flashcards right there under the moonlight, munching on bananas as he dips them into his nutella.

“What is Jeff Probst’s shoe size?” Ed mumbles, his mouth full of banana. He covers the answer with his hand and swallows. “What was it again? Uh….size ten?” He removes his hand pulls his fist back in victory. “I knew it”

* * *

 

The morning before the immunity challenge, Roy is already back on his feet, ready to scheme. He breaks away from his tribe to pace around the jungle as he mulls over his next move.

“Alright,” he mumbles, thumb placed on his bottom lip. “So I go make peace with Fullmetal and pretend to be on his side in the event of him winning immunity, just to save my own skin. If he loses, I tell him we’re voting for Lan Fan or Greed, depending on the result of today’s challenge, and then blindside him.”

Roy comes to a stop. His hand falls to his side.

“Wait a minute,” he says.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“What the hell am I doing?” Roy asks, as if cameraman Archer and his newest crappy camcorder have all the answers. “It’s like I don’t even have a soul anymore. Why is this so easy for me? First Winry, then Havoc and Hawkeye…”

Roy’s eyes glaze over. He frowns. “I miss Hawkeye. Her hair smelled like coconut.” He shakes his head, snapping himself out of his stupor. “Sorry, what was I talking about again?”

* * *

Ed is just rubbing the sleep from his eyes when Roy thrusts a banana into his face. Ed yawns, looking at it with watery eyes.

“What’s this?” Ed asks.

Roy smiles in a manner so friendly it skeeves Ed out. He reluctantly takes the banana from his hand and asks, “Did you poison this?”

“Me?” Roy asks, chuckling lightly. He sits down, nudging Ed with his elbow. “Poison my loyal and hardworking subordinate?”

Ed scoots away, now eyeing the banana even more skeptically. “Uh huh.” He takes a bite and in between chewing, says, “Cut the crap, Colonel. I know how you operate. What do you want?”

“We need to make sure Lan Fan loses,” says Roy. “We cannot risk keeping her around any longer than we already have. Already, she’s the biggest physical threat left. And should she make it to the end, there isn’t anyone here who could beat her against the jury.”

Ed nearly chokes on his banana from laughter. He swallows and says, “You didn’t even wait for Hawkeye’s corpse to get cold before getting right back to your ways.”

“Like that matters to you,” Roy says, rolling his eyes. “She had you wrapped around her thumb for episodes now.”

“Look, I’m not saying her elimination didn’t come with some relief,” says Ed. He frowns at the banana. “But that was low even for you. I mean, no offense, Colonel, but how am I supposed to trust you after that?”

Roy shrugs, smiling wryly. “Well, at this point it’s either trust me, Greed, or Lan Fan. And the fact remains, Fullmetal, I have thus far not written your name down at tribal council.”

Ed chews more slowly, studying the Colonel. What is he up to? With him, it’s never quite as innocent as he makes it seem.

“We can work together,” Roy says simply, “or I can take you out.”

Ed laughs. “You say that like you’re so sure I won’t win immunity.”

Roy glances at Ed’s cracked and rusty automail arm. His one remaining thumb dangles by a single wire.

“Anyway,” says Roy. “I took Hawkeye out only because I knew she was stabbing me in the back. Same with Havoc. Show me you’re loyal and I swear I’ll protect you.”

“Winry was loyal,” Ed mutters.

Roy sighs. “That was _one_ time.”

“I’m done with this conversation,” says Ed, getting up, tossing his empty banana peel to the ground. He gives Roy a withering glare. “Look, Colonel, you may have made it this far though cunning and manipulation, but anyone on this island would be an idiot to trust you. You blindsided _Lieutenant Hawkeye_. If your most trusted subordinate is expendable to you, then who the hell isn’t?”

“She was going to blindside me, to be fair,” Roy grumbles.

“Unlike you, Hawkeye was always direct,” Ed says. “When she wanted something done, she laid every card on the table, no scheming necessary. Don’t you see? The only way she could protect herself was to blindside – wait a minute.” Ed shakes his head, then mutters to himself. “She blackmailed me for nearly five episodes. Why am I defending her?”

As Ed contemplates this, and Roy observes him, several seconds pass in silence. At last, Roy whistles quietly and asks, “So….you’ll be my ally?”

Ed groans, tugging his buff down over his forehead.

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric  
**

“Do I even have anything left to lose?” he asks. “Do _any_ of us?”

* * *

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Ed sighs.

Roy grins.

* * *

Greed is kneeled at the edge of a rock overlooking the water. He tosses a dead fish (just recently skewered with his ultimate shield) straight into Carlos’s open mouth. The dolphin squeaks with gratitude.

“I’ll be back after the challenge, buddy,” says Greed as Carlos finishes off his breakfast.

“Homunculus!” Lan Fan calls from the beach. “It’s time to depart!”

Irritably, he looks over his shoulder and yells, “I’ll be there _in a minute_ , Lan Fan!”

He turns back to Carlos, smiling warmly. He reaches into the water and pets his smooth fin. Carlos closes his eyes.

“When I get back,” Greed says softly. “We’re going to practice what we learned and by tribal council, we’ll have gotten into Wrath’s lame ass palace.” Greed chuckles, now petting the dolphin with both hands as he coos, “Who’s a good henchman? Who? That’s right, it’s you, Carlos. The only follower I’ll ever need.”

“Greed!” Ed yells. “We’re leaving without you!”

Scowling, Greed clambers to his feet. He stomps on over to the others, grumbling, “You can’t tell me what to do. I own you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed says tiredly as Greed stalks past him. “Whatever you say, Greed. Now, let’s go.”

* * *

##  **_// IMMUNITY CHALLENGE //_ **

“Come on in, guys!” Jeff Probst calls out.

With Lan Fan in the lead, the remaining four castaways enter the challenge course. They stand side by side before Jeff Probst, and for the first time, they realize how…open their surrounding space is.

“This is weird,” Ed says. “Where the hell did all the other players go?”

“I still cannot believe we’ve made it all the way to this point,” Lan Fan says, awestruck by the realization.

Roy is too busy trying to make heads or tails of the challenge course. They stand on a sizable sandy terrain with four podiums, each with what appears to be a game show buzzer set on its surface. Directly across from them is a larger podium with a mysterious flag furled up at its front. Heiderich is to Jeff Probst’s left, holding a stack of index cards.

“Lan Fan,” says Jeff Probst. “Time to give it back.”

She removes the immunity necklace from around her neck and returns it to Jeff Probst. He sets it on the podium.

“Once again,” says Jeff Probst, “Immunity is back up for grabs.” He places his hands on his hips, smiling. “And here we are. Lan Fan, Roy, Edward, and Greed. Final four.” He chuckles to himself. “Who would have thought three members of the Red Tribe would outnumber Yellow in the end.”

“If you’re referring to the fact that they performed better in the tribal immunity challenges,” Lan Fan says, “it’s solely because their Fuhrer was far too over-powered.”

Ed and Roy murmur in agreement. Greed clenches his fists, beginning to seethe.

“Also, Colonel Mustang was consistently a liability,” Lan Fan adds.

“Hey!” Roy exclaims, whirling around on her.

Lan Fan shrugs.

“I _won_ the slip and slide challenge for us!”

“So are you guys ready to get to today’s challenge?” Jeff Probst asks, ignoring Roy because now is not the time to reminisce past chapters. No, that will come in Episode 12 when the final three burns the torches of their fallen tribe members. Crackfic or not, Jeff Probst will be damned if he allows these simpletons to tarnish the purity of Survivor.

“Sure,” Roy mutters. “Why not?”

“This challenge is a mental one,” says Jeff Probst. “In the past, your physical strength has been tested. Today, you’ll be answering a series of questions. For each correct answer, you get a point. By the end, whoever has the highest score wins immunity and a guaranteed spot in the final three.”

“A….series of questions,” Lan Fan repeats uncertainly.

“Regarding what, exactly?” Roy asks.

Ed meets Heiderich’s eyes across the challenge course. They each nod tersely at one another.

“I’m glad you asked, Colonel!” Jeff Probst walks over to the larger podium and pulls on a string. The flag unfurls over the front of the podium, revealing it to be a smiling portrait of Jeff Probst with the words _THE PROBST CHALLENGE_ stitched in bright blue letters across the bottom.

Everyone but Ed stares in utter disbelief.

Jeff Probst coughs and whispers, “Heiderich.”

“Oh!” Heiderich clears his throat and steps forward, monotonously reciting. “Today, we will be celebrating one of the most extraordinary talents to ever grace your television screens. Jeffrey Lee Probst, renowned author, filmmaker, and TV personality, was born on November–”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Roy says, dragging his hands over his face.

“ _Be quiet_!” Jeff Probst growls at him. He nods at Heiderich, “Continue.”

Heiderich goes on to read Jeff Probst’s full biography, all while the host stands back with a gentle smile. Roughly forty five minutes later, after the blistering sun has done a number on the tribe’s remaining physical strength, Heiderich concludes his speech with, “So for today’s challenge, you will be asked to answer a series of questions about Mr. Probst.”

“Were any of the answers found in your absurdly long monologue?” Roy asks, wiping the sweat off his brow.

Heiderich shakes his head. “No.”

“Naturally,” Lan Fan sighs.

Jeff Probst bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet. “Okay! Let’s draw for spots and get started!”

___

Everyone gets situated behind a podium while Heiderich and Jeff Probst assume their position behind the larger facing one.

“For immunity,” Jeff Probst says, “and a spot in the final three.”

“Is this even worth it?” Lan Fan asks, staring at the plastic buzzer before her.

“Survivors ready.” Jeff Probst takes the stack of index cards from Heiderich, and reads, “Question number one. What is my favorite color?”

Ed and Lan Fan slam their hands on their buzzers at once. Jeff Probst claps his hands in delight.

“Navy blue,” Lan Fan says.

Ed growls. How could she have possibly known that?

“That is correct!” Jeff Probst exclaims. “One point for Lan Fan!”

Lan Fan gives Ed a sideways look. It was glaringly obvious. He wears navy blue literally every day.

“Question number two,” says Jeff Probst, flipping his next card. “If I could cancel any show on television, which would it–” He doesn’t get to finish his question before Lan Fan’s hand is on the buzzer.

“American Idol,” she answers.

“Correct!” Jeff Probst says. “Two points Lan Fan!” He _tsks_ at the others, shaking his head. “You all need to step your game up.”

Heiderich shoots Ed an encouraging look. He mouths, _You’ve got this, Brother_.

“Question number three,” Jeff Probst says, reading the next card. “What is my preferred brand of toothpaste?”

Ed slams the buzzer down and yells, “Theodent!”

Roy’s eyes go wide. Lan Fan inhales a long and patient breath.

Jeff Probst grins. “Correct. Edward is catching up.”

The challenge goes on for several hours. It’s as if the questions simply never end. After a certain point, Jeff Probst grows tired of reading, so he has Heiderich do it instead while he sits on a lawn chair, shaded by a large umbrella, playing some kind of game on his iPhone.

“…I will travel across the land,” he sings quietly to himself, “searching far and wide. Bom-bom-bom. Each Pokemon to understand the power that’s insiiiiide – pokemon, gotta catch ‘em…”

Greed and Roy have made absolutely no progress, fixed at zero points. However, Greed stopped paying attention around hour two and is now using his ultimate shield finger to carve a drawing into the podium’s wooden surface. It depicts him riding on Carlos’s back through the palace moat while Fuhrer Bradley is devoured by his own alligators. Greed laughs to himself.

Meanwhile, Ed is in the lead at one hundred twenty four points, though, Lan Fan trails closely with an impressive score of one hundred and three.

“Okay.” Roy exasperatedly slams the podium with his fists. “How the hell do you even _know_ all of this?”

“Because I actually listen to the buffoon when he speaks,” Lan Fan deadpans. She glares at Edward. “However, I fail to see how _he_ is in the lead.”

“Next question, Heiderich!” Ed exclaims to divert the conversation.

“Of course, brother,” Heiderich brings out the next index card. “How many salsa dancing competitions has Mr. Probst won?”

Lan Fan presses down on her buzzer before Ed gets the chance to. She blurts out, “One!”

“YES!” Jeff Probst yells, jumping to his feet, pumping his arms in the air.

Lan Fan perks up. “I was right?”

Jeff Probst lifts his eyes from his phone, looks at her, and then sits back down. “Wait, no. Your answer was wrong. I was celebrating because I finally caught a Dragonair.”

Jeff Probst types away on his phone. “I’m going to name you Boston Rob.”

Lan Fan’s face falls. With a smug laugh, Ed sounds the buzzer and says, “Trick question. Jeff Probst hasn’t won any salsa competitions; however, he did come in second for a game of musical chairs at the CBS Christmas party.”

“That’s right,” Heiderich says, shooting him two thumbs up. “So we’re at one hundred twenty five points for Edward.”

“That was so…specific,” Roy says, slumping forward and resting his cheek against the podium. “God I’m tired, can we just name Fullmetal the winner and go back to camp?”

So, of course, the game continues for yet another hour, after which point, Ed and Lan Fan are tied at two hundred and four points. Roy managed to get one point by falling asleep on the buzzer and tiredly mumbling the first thing that came to mind when asked how Jeff Probst likes his filet mignon cooked at his favorite steakhouse. Miraculously, he was correct.

“It’s possible he just subconsciously remembered,” Lan Fan said as the Colonel began to snore.

“Alright,” Heiderich says now, several points later. “Final question.”

Roy is drooling on the podium. Greed has since drawn Bradley’s palace, now on fire. Lan Fan and Ed put on their game faces, fully prepared to take the other down.

“If I don’t win this,” Lan Fan murmurs, “All of my hardship will have been for nothing.

“If I don’t win this,” Ed says, “I’m still going to be the main character of the show, banking on a more than decent state alchemist’s salary.”

“What,” Heiderich asks, pausing for dramatic effect, “is Jeff Probst’s shoe size?”

“His shoe size?” Lan Fan repeats.

Ed sounds the buzzer and yells, “TEN! He’s a size ten!”

Jeff Probst abandons his game to stand and announce, “That is correct! Edward Elric wins immunity!”

“Alright!” Ed cheers, throwing a victory fist in the air. And then his automail thumb pops off. He frowns.

Jeff Probst sets the immunity necklace around Ed’s neck and claps his shoulder. “Congratulations, Edward, you are safe from tonight’s vote and have made it to the final three.”

Lan Fan nudges Roy awake. He springs up, wiping the drool off the side of his mouth.

“Whaaaat happened?” he slurs, blinking repeatedly. “Did…did I win?”

“We’re going back to camp now, Colonel,” Lan Fan says.

“Nice,” says Roy, collapsing on the podium once more. Lan Fan grabs the scruff of his shirt and lugs his body away.

Greed looks down at his drawing, taking a moment to admire his work before following Lan Fan out. Ed is just about to leave as well, though he quickly looks to Heiderich beforehand and mouths _, Thanks_.

Heiderich lights up. He nods, grinning eagerly.

“Tribal council tonight,” Jeff Probst says. “Who will be eliminated after twenty six days? Will it be the last remaining member of the Yellow Tribe, the Colonel who has evaded elimination time and time again, or the girl who has beaten all odds?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE FEEDBACK OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. I laughed and smiled so much. You guys have no idea. ksjghaskjhgsakjh I’m so so so so happy anyone enjoyed it, even if it was with some anger. haha. (#AnyoneButRoy2k16 going strong.) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. As always, thank you guys for reading and being cool with my picking on these characters. 
> 
> Also, check out a wonderful piece of art by mustangsgloves on Tumblr regarding last chapter’s tribal council. I was at the dealership when I saw it and I remembered doing everything in my power not to laugh out loud. It was hard. (In the SNA tag on my Tumblr!)
> 
> sklhgsajhglkasjhglaskjhsjdhflkasjhlaskjhs. I miss Riza as much as Roy does. Everyone on the jury will get their chance to speak very soon. Thank you guys for sticking around this long, if you have. We’re coming to an end soon!


	21. Episode 11 (Part 2)

Ed is more than pleased with himself after he manages to catch a massive fish in the trap he’d left prior to leaving for the immunity challenge. It jerks and tumbles about as Ed lifts the net out of the water.

“I knew Teacher’s training would pay off,” he says to himself. In all the time he’d been depending on Heiderich, he’d forgotten that he was actually kind of resourceful.

He brings his catch to their campsite, where Lan Fan and the Colonel have already begun nursing a small fire.

“Wow, Fullmetal,” Roy says, impressed. “Not bad.”

“Not sure if this mahi mahi is even native to this island,” Ed says as he opens the net and drops the dead fish in front of Roy. “But I sure am glad for plot convenience.”

“You know, mahi mahi is often called dolphin,” says Roy. He begins to gut their dinner with the edge of a broken seashell.

“Well, that’s unsettling,” says Lan Fan, thinking of the homunculus’s aquatic friend Carlos. “How does one know they’re not consuming an actual dolphin?”

“People don’t eat dolphins,” Ed says. He pauses, looking down at the mahi mahi as Roy moves on to filet it. “I…don’t think…”

The three of them fall silent, thinking of Carlos’s jubilant face. Tension rises, only momentarily, before Roy sighs, then begins lancing the fish with sticks to hold over it the fire.

“So, let’s vote for Greed,” says Roy as the crackling flames rise. “I mean, we may as well.”

“Yeah, fine by me,” Ed says with a sigh. “He’s beginning to overstay his welcome.”

They turn to Lan Fan. If the attention is unsettling in the slightest, she does nothing to indicate this.

“You realize that I came into this game to win for the Yao clan,” she says placidly. “This decision is not one I can make without careful consideration.”

“Carefully consider soon,” says Roy. “Because, to put it bluntly, it’s either you or him tonight.”

She takes a measured breath.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“Colonel Mustang infuriates me!” she cries out. “Who does he even think he is? Walking around with this air of superiority, thinking he’s above elimination solely because of how much we all despise him?” Lan Fan closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I need to be patient,” she says, more to herself than the camera. “And think this through. This game is as much about strategy as it is survival.”

* * *

“You’re right, Colonel,” says Lan Fan. She stands up, smiling tightly. “Tonight, we eliminate the homunculus.”

“Atta girl,” says Roy with a wink.

Ed shudders. The Colonel’s disposition is so slimy, he can practically feel his insincerity crawling up his arms.

Lan Fan leaves them, saying she’s off to find more wood for their fire. The moment she is out of sight, Roy wastes no time in saying, “Anyway, we’re definitely voting for Lan Fan. After that, we need only to ensure one of us wins the final immunity challenge.”

“Don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves?” Ed asks. When Roy’s acerbic gaze lands on him, he crosses his arms in defiance. “You know, it might actually show something to the jury if you vote honestly in _at least_ one tribal council.”

Roy guffaws. He falls back on the sand, folding his arms behind his head. “After everything I’ve done, I doubt anyone on the jury is going to think differently of me on _that_ basis.”

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“I’ve already worked out the numbers in my head,” Roy says. “Certainly, there are people on the jury who would sooner drop dead than write my name. Olivier Armstrong being the obvious. But once all nine votes are in, all I need are five to win.”

Roy smirks. “I’ll get those five votes without a problem. But in order to sway the jury, I’ll need to do whatever it takes to make it to the end.”

* * *

“We know Greed isn’t going to win any challenges,” Roy says. “I mean, he _could_ if he wanted to, but thus far he hasn’t cared enough to try. Lan Fan, on the other hand, can and likely will should we be physically tested. If we risk keeping her for another challenge, she’ll win the game without a hitch.”

“You act like Lan Fan has friends on the jury,” says Ed.

“She sure as hell doesn’t have as many enemies as I do.” Roy uses a stick to overturn a scrap of firewood. The flames snap and crackle. “Or you, for that matter. If Lan Fan makes it to the end, she can easily get support from Major Armstrong, Havoc, Catalina, and, hell, Hawkeye and the General if she can convince them her betrayal wasn’t personal.”

“Five votes, huh,” Ed sighs.

“Majority of nine. All it takes.”

Ed scratches the back of his head, feeling so tired suddenly. They’re so close to the end, he can taste it – or maybe he’s only tasting the smoke that rises from the mahi mahi.

He looks at Mustang, noting the way his hair has grown long enough that he constantly needs to sweep it away from his eyes. Stubble peppers his jawline in patchy fragments, which makes Ed want to gag.

If the Colonel ever tried to grow facial hair, it would probably be a nauseating sight.

Ed tugs at the collar of his droopy black tanktop, knowing he probably doesn’t look or smell much better. What he’d give for a shower right now. Or the coconut body scrub Heiderich knows he loves so much.

Ed shakes the thought off.

“After tonight, everything changes,” says Ed. As the realization sinks into his chest, he’s overcome with an inexplicable bout of sadness. “The next challenge literally determines who makes it to the end.”

A fond smile touches Roy’s lips. He drapes an arm over his forehead and looks up at the sky.

“Do you remember our last night before the merge?” Roy asks. “You, me, General Armstrong, and Lan Fan sitting around the fire?”

“Wasn’t there someone else with us?” Ed asks, uncertainly counting on his fingers.

Roy sits up. He closes his eyes in concentration. “Maybe. Uh….Scar didn’t make the merge, did he?”

“No, no. It was someone else. Someone…” Ed trails off, shaking his head. “You know what, that isn’t important.”

“Right,” Roys says. “The point is…so much has changed. Our first tribal council, I was moping in the rain while you all were deciding between my name or Kimblee’s. Lieutenant Hawkeye and I were only waiting for the merge so we could ally at last. Olivier Armstrong was hellbent on taking me down. And now, here we are. After tonight, we’re down to the last three of us.”

“I’m not going to lie,” Ed says. “I really didn’t think the author would make it this far. I think her not giving up on this is the biggest plot twist we’ve had all season.”

Roy laughs, though a small part of him cannot bring himself to truly appreciate the fic author after everything she put him through. See, his laughter is an empty gesture. Something only to increase this chapter’s word count because with so few players left on the island, there really isn’t very much the fic author can do anymore short of having everyone reminisce and break the fourth wall as cheap humor.

Thankfully, the painful awkwardness of this scene is saved by Lan Fan’s return. She carefully arranges the firewood in a way that directs the fire more efficiently for cooking their dinner.

“Oh, look,” she says, delighted. “It appears our fish is almost finished cooking. Should we tell the homunculus?”

“Tell me what?”

The three of them look up. Greed stands over them, curiously looking at the steaming fish fillets.

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Lan Fan asks, cheerfully pointing at the fish.

“Edward caught it.”

Greed sniffs the smoke that swirls into the air. “What kind of fish?”

Roy overturns a fillet. “Dolphin.”

“ _What_!?” Greed shrieks. His black ultimate shield slips over both his arms and creeps halfway up his neck. He grabs Edward by the collar of his shirt, making him yelp. “You _shrimp son of a bitch_! I’ll kill you!”

“Wait! Wait!” Ed screams, writhing around, trying to break free. “It’s not what you think! It’s–”

Greed lands a punch square in Edward’s face. Roy stands up, because if Fullmetal needs to be shipped off to a hospital, that’s one less number he has in his favor for tonight’s vote. But Lan Fan quickly grabs his wrist, shoving him back into his seat.

“It’s better not to get involved,” she says harshly.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

Roy sighs in relief. “Oh, thank god. That looked really dangerous.”

* * *

“Asshole!” Greed yells, his voice cracking. “What, your artesian water wasn’t enough? You had to–”

“You don’t understand!” Ed shouts before Greed lands a punch to his gut that takes the wind out of him.

Roy cringes. “Hey, Greed, maybe you should lay off.”

“YOU SHUT UP!” Greed shouts, forcefully shoving a wheezing Edward to the sand. He points at Roy, tears pooling in his eyes. “I’ll bet you encouraged him, you manipulative piss-ant motherfu–”

Greed is cut off by a faint whistle. He whirls around, his anger vanishing at once. “Carlos?”

Ed rolls over with a gasp, pushing himself up by his shaking elbows. Roy and Lan Fan each take one of his arms and bring him to his feet. His head lolls forward.

“Does it look bad?” Ed slurs. He weakly points at his eye. It’s already begun to swell.

“Um,” Lan Fan says uncomfortably. She looks to Roy to assistance, but he only sucks in a quick breath, affirming that it most definitely does look bad.

Meanwhile, Greed has run to he and Carlos’s regular meeting area by the rocks. Without a second thought, he throws himself into the ocean and hugs the dolphin to himself, desperately petting his fin. Carlos squees.

“I was so worried,” Greed murmurs. He shoots Carlos a berating look and says, “Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again. You hear me?”

By the campfire, Roy and Lan Fan watch the entire thing go down with raised eyebrows. Under his breath, Ed mumbles, “Greed…starting to…lose it.”

“Yeah,” Roys says. He looks at the fish. “So…we’re still eating, right?”

Ed slips out of their holds and curls up on the ground.

* * *

Greed stays in the water with Carlos until sunset, whereupon Lan Fan joins him, sitting at the edge of a large rock with her feet in the water. She slumps forward.

Greed wrinkles his nose, glancing at her over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

Lan Fan frowns. “I think you and I need to vote together tonight.”

Edward and the Colonel must think her an idiot if they honestly believe she’s willing to buy their story. At this point in the game, she simply knows better. There isn’t any reason for either of them to eliminate Greed. Not when she has proven herself to be more physically adept _and_ less hated by the jury than the rest of them.

“For what?” Greed asks. “I’m voting for you tonight.”

Lan Fan shakes her head. “I’m sorry, what?”

Greed backstrokes away from Carlos in order to face her. Bluntly, he says, “I mean, it isn’t like I can beat you in a jury vote. I was all in for voting out the kid, but now that he’s won immunity, there isn’t much I can do.”

“You do realize that it’s more strategic to bring me with you to the final three,” says Lan Fan. “After all, what’s mine is yours. We’re both of Xing, both of the same clan–”

“Whoaaa!” says Greed, raising a hand. “Back up. What’s mine is _mine_ and I’m not part of any ‘clan.’ The prince kid’s business ain’t mine.”

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“The homunculus refuses to listen to reason,” says Lan Fan. “His decisions are driven by an overwhelming desire to obtain everything for himself. He’s blinded by his avarice, unable to see beyond tonight’s tribal council, where he’d be outnumbered should I be eliminated tonight.”

* * *

“What if either of them win immunity?” Lan Fan challenges, beginning to grow exasperated. “What will you do _then_? It’s clear the two of them plan to take each other to the end. You weren’t on the Red Tribe with us. You don’t know how the two of them operate. If I’m out tonight, you will be next.”

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan  
**

“Edward and the Colonel have maintained as honest an alliance as either of them could form with anybody,” she says. “When they’re allied, they work together. When they’re not, they don’t. And already this is the third time they have returned to one another. I don’t trust either of them.”

* * *

“Obviously, I’ll win immunity,” Greed says with an eyeroll, irked by her inability to see the obvious. “And when I make it to the end, I’ll win Survivor, the money, the glory, and probably be promoted to main character of the canon.” He smiles, staring down at his hand that he curls into a fist. “I want it all. I’ll have it all. I’m Greed the–”

“Young lord, I know you’re in there!” Lan Fan tries as a last resort. She scoots closer to the edge of the rock, boring her eyes into Greed’s. “Don’t let this monster disgrace our country! This is being televised! How would the people of Xing feel if you were to betray one of your subjects?”

Inside of Greed, he feels Ling stir. Greed tries to suppress the kid’s soul, but to no avail, as Ling manages to break through with a faint, _She has a point, you know_.

“She does _not_ have a point!” Greed yells. He splashes with his arms. “Now shut up and let me handle this!”

“Young lord!” Lan Fan cries. Her eyes fill with tears. “Can you hear me?”

 _Greed, I want control_ , Ling demands.

“Over our dead body you’ll have control!” Greed snarls. “Don’t blow this for us, you little shit!”

_If you don’t give me control right now, I’m going to fill your mind with images of Fuhrer Bradley enjoying a peaceful afternoon in his palace jacuzzi. Is that what you want?_

“You asshole,” Greed growls. He drops his forehead into his palm with a resigned sigh. “ _Fine_! Five minutes.”

Cheerfully, Ling accepts. Instantly, his scowl melts into a chipper smile. Lan Fan immediately recognizes it as her prince.

“Lan Fan, hey!” Ling exclaims, now speaking in Todd Haberkorn’s voice.  

Without hesitation, she shoves herself off the edge of the rock and makes a splash in the water. Ling wastes no time in wrapping her in a bone crushing hug that she returns with one arm, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“The homunculus was so unbearable,” she whispers breathlessly. “All he did was steal from us and talk to that weird dolphin. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could endure it for.”

“Lan Fan, my bodyguard,” Ling says, pulling away and looking deeply into her eyes. “I, Ling Yao, twelfth prince of Xing, will _never_ betray you.”

“I know that,” she says, closing her eyes with a soft smile.

“Greed’s actions to not reflect my choices,” Ling continues. “For while he has control of my body – because an immortal being often has control of my body, for those from Xing watching who aren’t up to speed – I do not have free will.”

Lan Fan looks puzzled. “Uh…Young–”

“Additionally,” Ling says, “if Greed were to betray you at tonight’s tribal council, it is a decision that has nothing to with Xing, the Yao clan, or myself.”

Suddenly realizing what he’s doing, Lan Fan backs away. Her eyes narrow.

* * *

**Confessional: Lan Fan**

“Did he just take control of his body for the first time all game _for a disclaimer_?” Lan Fan demands.

* * *

“That said,” says Ling. He claps his hands with a bright smile. “Good luck, Lan Fan! I’m most definitely rooting for you.”

“I would like to resign as your bodyguard,” she mutters.

“Oh no!” Ling exclaims, massaging his temples. He gasps theatrically. “G-Greed, no! Greed, you can’t take control just yet! I’m…I need more time…I…”

Greed, who’d spent these past few paragraphs daydreaming about what Carlos would look like in a hat, is shaken back to the present.

 _Whaaa?_ He snaps his focus to Ling. _Oh, you want me to take over again?_

“It…hurts!” Ling whimpers. “Greed, have mercy!”

 _Fine, fine_. Greed prepares to take control. _You’re making a fool of us. Tone it down a notch_.

Ling spreads his arms and legs, floating atop the water on his back. He whispers, “Goodbye…Lan Fan…”

Greed regains control of his body and straightens up. The first thing he does is look at Carlos, who has backed away some, perhaps confused as to why his master’s demeanor changed so drastically within the span of a few seconds.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Greed tells him.

“What the hell was that?” Lan Fan growls. She splashes water into Greed’s face. He grunts, rubbing his burning eyes.

“I don’t know,” Greed says, genuinely baffled. “What did he want?”

A clump of seaweed drifts along the ocean’s surface. Lan Fan swipes it off and lobs it at the water with all of her might. It makes a vicious splash right next to Carlos. The dolphin squeals in terror and swims away.

Horrified, Greed stares at her. “What did you do?”

Lan Fan is speechless. She certainly hadn’t _meant_ to scare the dolphin away. She’d allowed her anger to get the better of her.

“Homunculus, my apolo–”

“Carlos!” Greed yells, the name bleeding out of him in his desperation. He wades out to sea. “Carlos, answer me! _Carlos_!”

The dolphin doesn’t answer. It’s far gone. Greed whirls around and points at Lan Fan, yelling, “ _You_ did this!”

“I…” Lan Fan has no rebuttal. She most definitely did, though by accident. Either way, she can’t help but feel the slightest relief. She always found Carlos kind of creepy.

“We were about to get into the palace!” Greed swims over to her in a rage. “We had all these plans and your uncontrollable emotions squandered all of them!”

Lan Fan can’t help but side-eye that statement. Especially when he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears.

“I’m going to…leave now,” says Lan Fan, slowly climbing out of the water, over the pile of rocks.

Greed doesn’t call after her. He doesn’t keep swimming. He merely stays put, sagging in defeat. Lan Fan would feel bad for him, pitiful as he looks, if not for her impending elimination.

Right before the tribe is set to leave for tribal council, Lan Fan stops in front of Edward and Roy, interrupting a game of tic tac toe they’ve been playing in the sand.

“Lan Fan,” says Roy, raising his eyes. “Do you want to play the winner?”

“No,” says Lan Fan. “I do not. I came to tell you that I know you plan to vote for me tonight and I’ve accepted it. However, the fact remains that one or both of you will inevitably find yourself in the final two. Should that happen, I want you to remember each and every time you’ve betrayed or manipulated me. I have not forgotten. I will not forget come the final tribal council. Do with that what you will.”

Roy blinks. He casts a quick glance at Ed, who appears just as taken aback.

Lan Fan turns on her heel and stalks away, leaving the two to stare after her. Finally, after a long and awkward stretch of silence, Roy says, “It really is a shame. I like Lan Fan more with each passing episode.”

Ed draws an X on their tic tac toe board and strikes a line through it, winning.

“She’s smart,” Roy goes on. “Crafty. A good fighter. It sucks we’re getting rid of her.”

Ed looks up. “But we’re definitely getting rid of her, right?”

Roy wrinkles his nose. “God, yes. You heard her just now. We can’t let someone that badass and likable make the final two. She’ll win for sure.”

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Greed, Fullmetal, and myself,” says Roy. “The first doesn’t have any friends to vote in his favor. Due to his cheating, the second has likely made enough enemies that I could sway to my side. This is the only way we can proceed if I want to win.” He grins toothily. “I _will_ win.”

* * *

##  **_// TRIBAL COUNCIL //_ **

The final four dip their torches into the fire pit and take their seats in the tribal council hut. As always, Jeff Probst stands at the podium, sipping from the straw of his Snackee™ from last episode’s tribal council.

To his left is Alfons Heiderich who pales as he takes in Ed’s swelling black eye. With a shaky intake of breath, he points and mouths, “Brother, what happened?” Ed tries not to make eye contact.

Jeff Probst says, “I will now bring in the members of our jury.”

And so they enter, taking their seats one by one, as Jeff Probst calls their names. “Winry, Major Armstrong, Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber, Zoey, Havoc, Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong, and Riza voted out in the last tribal council.”

Roy nearly chokes when Hawkeye makes her entrance. Had he really forgotten how pretty her eyes were? She takes her seat next to the general, crossing a leg over her knee. The high slit of her long skirt reveals a thigh holster that makes Roy feel very parched suddenly.

He swallows, curling his hand into a tight fist.

 _She betrayed you. She betrayed you. Remember that._ He takes a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from the exposed skin of her leg.

Olivier sneers, both at Mustang’s pathetic display and the fact that the immunity necklace is now around Edward’s neck. Ironic considering how close he was to disqualification last tribal council.

“My name isn’t Zoey,” Rebecca whispers futilely.

Jeff Probst steals the attention once more, setting his Snackee down forcefully. He smiles and says, “And then there were four.”

“Indeed there are, Jeff Probst,” says Roy, wiping his sweaty palms against the knees of his windbreakers. “We’ve made it to this point because each of us has been able to outwit, outplay, and outlast. I couldn’t have asked for more deserving people to join me in the final four.”

From the jury bench, Riza and Olivier look at each other, and then roll their eyes. However, of the castaways, Lan Fan is the one to laugh out loud.

“Is that how you feel?” she muses. “I wonder how many people on the jury would agree with the sentiment. After all, so many of them were your allies at one point.”

“I disagree,” says Roy, refusing to look back over at the jury in question. He can feel Hawkeye’s scathing eyes burning the side of his head. “If you recall, Lan Fan, my first ally in this game is sitting right beside me today.” He smiles innocently at her. “Or does all our time together on the Red Tribe escape you tonight?”

“You say that as if you’re not planning to eliminate me,” she says, refusing to waver under his bogus veil of kindness and loyalty.

“Yeah, this is all nice and good,” says Jeff Probst, already beginning to get bored. “But what we should really talk about is the immunity challenge.”

The castaways look at him. Lan Fan tilts her head and asks, “Um…why?”

“All we did was answer questions,” Ed says. “It isn’t like there’s anything noteworthy to–”

“Lan Fan, you came really close to winning,” says Jeff Probst, as if no one had spoken. “Why don’t we talk about that for a moment?”

“You just want an excuse to talk about yourself,” Roy says.

“Seriously,” Ed groans. “Let’s just get on with the voting. It isn’t like anyone’s going to reveal a game changer or anything.”

“Besides, everyone knows Edward cheated,” Lan Fan adds. Roy and Greed murmur in agreement. Ed stares at them in shock.

Jeff Probst, on the other hand, looks totally offended by the notion. “Or _maybe_ ,” he says, “you all just don’t pay enough attention to me. Ever thought of _that_?”

“How in the hell were any of us supposed to know which summer camp you attended when you were a kid?” Roy asks him. “Don’t you think it was a little suspicious that Fullmetal was able to answer that question right down to all of its specifics, including who your camp counselor was in 1969?”

“I can’t believe you all _didn’t_ know that, given what an impact Counselor Sandra Fogel had on Jeff Probst’s life,” says Ed. He points at Jeff Probst and winks. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

“You’ve got it!” says Jeff Probst. He shakes his head at the others. “It’s honestly disappointing. Except for Lan Fan, of course.”

“I don’t know if I _want_ this man’s approval,” Lan Fan says quietly to herself.

Roy looks over at Greed, noticing that he’s been particularly quiet since this afternoon. The homunculus’s blank eyes point toward the floor.

“What’s Greed’s deal?” Roy asks.

Lan Fan straightens up involuntarily. She bites her tongue.

Ed snaps his fingers in front of Greed’s face. He blinks repeatedly, shaking himself out of his haze, and looks at the jury as if he’s never seen them before.

“Whoa,” he says quietly. He screws his eyes shut. “When did we get to tribal council?”

“Is…everything alright?” Ed asks with some uncertainty. Greed has been more withdrawn than usual today. Almost as if he’d taken all of his emotions out on Ed when he punched the crap of him.

“I just…” Greed looks down. He murmurs, “Carlos.”

Over on the jury bench, everyone but Riza looks at one another in confusion. Winry nudges Armstrong and whispers, “Who the hell is Carlos?”

“Silence!” Jeff Probst commands. The jury’s murmurs of inquiry come to an abrupt stop. Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber bites back a whimper.

“So,” Jeff Probst says, addressing the tribe, “back to the immunity challenge–”

“Perhaps we should be focusing more on the way this game is being played,” Lan Fan says, diverting the conversation toward something that might actually advance whatever semblance of a plot is left in this fic. “The jury is going to have to decide between one of us.” Her eyes flicker in their direction. “Either Edward, the homunculus, the Colonel, or myself will win Survivor.” Now her eyes rest on Roy. Her lip quirks into a half-smile. “Any decision made between now and the final tribal council is magnified by those voting for the winner, wouldn’t you say?”

Roy narrows his eyes. “You seem to be under the impression that a certain outcome tonight will make any of us look favorable.” Roy closes his eyes. He lets out a chuckle. “You know as well as I do that you don’t win Survivor by playing nice. Take a look at Alphonse Elric or Major Armstrong.”

“Well, why don’t you take a look around _you_ ,” Lan Fan says, unperturbed. “Honestly, Colonel, is there anyone sitting on this bench who you think you can beat?” She nudges her head in the direction of the jury. “Would any one of them give you their support?”

Roy shakes his head, smirking so arrogantly it lights an angry fire in Lan Fan’s chest. “Well, if that’s how you feel, why bother saying anything? If it’s so inevitable that I’ll lose no matter what, why not ensure it’s the two of us in the end?”

“Desperation, maybe.”

Lan Fan and Roy look at Ed. He leans back in his seat, staring disinterestedly at the tribal council hut ceiling. “We’re at that point in the game where we have both everything and nothing to lose.”

Lan Fan doesn’t respond, but shoots him a steely look. Then Roy laughs.

“Fullmetal is right,” he says, radiating with amusement. “But even so, there isn’t anything left to hide from each other. Or am I wrong?”

Lan Fan’s cold eyes meet his. In all the years she has guarded the young lord, and of all the vile people she’s ever had the displeasure of coming in contact with to protect him, her hatred for Colonel Mustang as a result of this game remains unparalleled.

“Perhaps not,” Lan Fan says uniformly. Her venomous glare does not waver. “And perhaps none of that matters in the end, does it? Tonight, I join the jury alongside Winry, Havoc, and the Lieutenant. And should you make it to the end, Colonel, all of your cunning and strategy will be nullified. For if you reach the top, you’ll have done so alone.”

“Alone, huh?” Roy says.  

“A castaway is no castaway without his jury,” Lan Fan says simply. “But a jury without the likes of you is–”

“Lost as well?” Greed supplies monotonously.

Lan Fan frowns. “Uh…I was going to say completely satisfied.”

“Heiderich, how long has this tribal council been going on for?” Jeff Probsts asks through a yawn. He takes a lazy sip from his Snackee.

“Roughly thirteen hundred words, sir,” says Heiderich.

Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber hurries to type this exchange down. In confirmation, he winks at Jeff Probst. He shudders.

“Never look at me again,” says Jeff Probst.

Dismayed, the man averts his eyes.

“So,” he says. “I think we can agree this tribal council has gone on long enough.”

“Well.” Ed glances over his unhappy tribe mates. “We didn’t actually get anything resolved. We sort of just repeated the obvious over and over again.”

“We’re down to four players,” Jeff Probst sighs. “This part of the game is _all about_ stating the obvious. And come the final tribal council, we’ll have stated the obvious so many times, you’ll all be begging for this sorry crackfic to meet its merciful conclusion.”

“Can we stop breaking the fourth wall?” Roy groans, running his fingers through his hair. “Seriously, it stopped being funny in Episode 3.”

“Ed, you have the immunity necklace,” Jeff Probst says, ignoring Roy. Because how dare he try and decide what is and isn’t funny on his own show? “You can keep it or you can shoot yourself in the foot. Which’ll it be?”

“I’m keeping it,” Ed says.

“You cannot vote for Ed,” says Jeff Probst. “Everybody else is fair game. It is time to vote. Ed, you’re up.”

Ed stands up as the voting music begins to play. He makes his way down the runway, to the table, scribbles a name, and holds it up.

 _Lan Fan_.

“It’s all strategy,” Ed says. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way. You were my first friend on the island.” He looks down, remembering the brief period on Red when they’d been allies. His eyes rise to meet the camera’s again. “But this is the end of the road.”

When Ed returns, Roy goes to cast his vote with a haughty grin. Greed immediately follows. He then sits down, and Lan Fan gets up to go to the voting table in his place. She writes Mustang’s name.

“You,” she says in a harsh whisper, “will _never_ have my vote. You will never have my support. Anyone can wear a crown. But only the loyal and beloved can truly be kings. You can manipulate everyone on the island to propel yourself to the end. But I can assure you, it will all be for nothing.”

She drops her vote into the pot and starts away. However, she quickly turns around and adds, “I hope you grow a terrible mustache at the end of the canon. It’s what you deserve.”

After she is seated, Jeff Probst nods. “I’ll tally the votes.”

Tension befalls the tribe. Lan Fan clenches her fist with averted eyes. Greed’s empty gaze is fixed on nothing in particular. Ed looks down at his automail, then shoots Winry an apologetic glance. She stares at his mangled arm in silent horror.

Jeff Probst re-enters the tribal council area with the voting pot. He sets it down atop his podium, beside his Snackee. “Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately. I’ll read the votes.”

He opens the lid. “First vote.” He brings it out, then turns it around. “Lan Fan.”

She is unmoved. Though she isn’t certain she’s fully at peace with this, she has at least accepted her fate.

“Second vote.” Jeff Probst pulls out the next vote. He frowns at it for a moment. “Uh.” He reveals it. The name ‘CARLOS’ is hastily crossed out, as if it had been written absentmindedly before Lan Fan’s name was squeezed in beneath it. “Lan Fan. I guess. Two votes Lan Fan.”

Everyone turns to look at Greed, who stares in the general direction of a nearby torch flame. After a long minute of his tribe mates watching him, he blinks hard, then focuses on Roy. “Oh. Are we going back to camp?”

“Tribal council isn’t over,” Ed says.

“What?” Greed looks up at Jeff Probst. “Wait, did you say something?”

Unamused, Jeff Probst looks down at the pot. He clears his throat. “Anyway.” He pulls the next vote out, reads it, and says, “Thirteenth person voted out of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the eighth member of our jury.” He holds it up. “Lan Fan. That’s three, it’s enough. Bring me your torch.”

Sighing with exhaustion, she does just that. From the jury bench, Riza shakes her head. Olivier scoffs. She murmurs, “Pitiful.”

Lan Fan stops in front of Jeff Probst, but when he grabs his snuffer, he hesitates. He looks into Lan Fan’s big dark eyes, the same eyes that answered two hundred four questions about his life correctly.

He looks over at the tribe. Roy is picking at a bug bite on his arm. Greed seems dazed and confused, absolutely _not_ paying attention to him or tribal council.

Jeff Probst cannot snuff Lan Fan’s torch in place of one of _theirs_. She’s the only one besides Ed who actually values him.

“I revoke this decision,” says Jeff Probst. He points at the jury bench. “Greed, you had the lowest score for the immunity challenge. You’re eliminated instead.”

“Whaaa?” Greed asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You can’t do that!” Ed protests. “We voted _her_ out!”

“At the very least, eliminate Mustang,” says Lan Fan, perfectly content, albeit taken aback, by this change in events.

“I can very well do what I please!” Jeff Probst hugs his snuffer defensively to his chest. “I’m the host. I’m practically your god.”

“No!” Ed shrieks. “We made a decision! Honor it!”

“He’s right, Jeff Probst,” Heiderich says meekly. Jeff Probst turns his head in the boy’s direction. “You cannot do this. It’s tribal council. _The tribe has spoken_ , sir.”

As those words – his mantra, his prayer, his heart and soul –  ring through Jeff Probst’s head, he clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the snuffer’s handle.

_The tribe has spoken._

_The tribe has spoken._

_The tribe has spoken._

He’s right. Jeff Probst _knows_ he’s right.

“I…” Jeff Probst fights through his remorse. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He hastily puts out Lan Fan’s flame and says, “Lan Fan, the tribe has spoken.”

She sighs. So much for that. With nothing additional to say, she exists the tribal council hut, officially eliminated.

Jeff Probst’s voice is tight when he speaks. “Well…congratulations, final three. After this, we have one elimination left. Which of you will it be?”

He looks down, still unhappy about the outcome. “Okay. Get out now.”

* * *

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Lan Fan  
**

“There isn’t anything to say,” she tells the camera. “Everything that needs to be said will be said in the form of votes at the final tribal council. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t prepared for this. I knew I would get my torch put out tonight, but this does not come without a price.” She has worn the black Survivor buff around her neck ever since the merge. Now, she pulls it over her head, tossing it at Chimera!Tucker’s feet. “The game doesn’t end here. I will not let Colonel Mustang win Survivor. He will not play us all for fools. I will _not_ allow anyone to make a fool of me, the young lord, or my country.”

* * *

Votes:  
Ed: Lan Fan  
Roy: Lan Fan  
Greed: Lan Fan  
Lan Fan: Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was severely lacking in anything interesting and I apologize. Lan Fan was one of my favorite characters to write in this fic. I’m going to miss her so much. ALAS. FINAL 3. 
> 
> SO WE ARE DOWN TO GREED, ROY, AND ED. One of these losers is going to win Survivor. When I first started this fic, I had a very different plan for who was going to make the final three. Only one of these guys remained consistent. (I won’t say which. Yet :D).
> 
> Next chapter, we will find out who ONE of the final two will be (as that person will win immunity.) And it’s the ever-famous Right of Passage episode of Survivor, where the final three collect the torches of all their fallen tribe mates. Beginning with Kimblee, ending with Lan Fan. I really hope whoever sticks around for it will enjoy.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope this lame-ness was amusing. sjkghaskljghkajshs Have a really wonderful night <3


	22. Episode 12 (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode is a three-parter! So the elimination will take place in the final part of it. Immunity challenge will be during part 2. This chapter is dedicated to the Rite of Passage, which in Survivor, is when the final three pay their respects to the players eliminated before them. I hope you enjoy!

“I’m honestly impressed,” says Roy when he steps off of the canoe, landing on warm sand. “It appears this map has actually taken us somewhere.” In a grumble, he adds, “Unlike the _last_ map from Episode 5.”

Ed’s eyes drop to the map in his hands. It had been left on their campsite before anyone woke up with instructions to follow it. It’s neat, color coded, and even laminated.

“It’s obvious Heiderich made this one,” says Ed.

“How do you figure?” Roy asks.

Ed swallows. He certainly cannot say he recognizes the handwriting from the letters his fake brother always left with each oil delivery. Or the airplane stickers decorating the map corners that he’d also come to expect on the wrapping of his afternoon cookies.

“B-because,” says Ed uncertainly, “Jeff Probst mentioned it at the last immunity challenge?”

Roy and Greed exchange a glance. God knows neither of them were paying attention to a word that man had said. They have no choice but to accept this.

“Ah, fair enough,” says Greed. He walks past Ed, plucking the map from his hands so he can lead the way. “Let’s get going.”

They walk through the jungle to get to an open ring of trees and dead grass. In the center is a plastic fold-out chair with a piece of paper taped to its back. Ed pulls it free and skims the first few lines.

“Oh,” he says, “it’s the obligatory introduction letter.”

As Ed prepares the read, the viewers at home are treated to a series of aesthetic shots of the island that include spiders crawling up a tree, the tide lapping at the shore, the sun gleaming from behind Fuhrer Bradley’s palace, Ed’s discarded breakfast sandwich from a few days ago now covered in maggots.

“Today, you will…” Ed peers at the page, bringing it close to his face. He shakes his head. “Yeah, I can’t read this word.”

Roy cranes his neck to read over his shoulder. “It looks like ‘howler.’”

“Howler doesn’t make sense in the context of the sentence!” Greed argues. He points at the page. “Look! It says ‘Today you will _blank_ your fallen tribe mates.’ How does ‘howler’ make any sense?”

“You think it’s ‘honor?’” Ed ponders, irked that one of the most monumental moments in the entire series was trivialized by Jeff Probst’s clear lack of effort. When Ed flips the page over, he sees that the letter is written on the back of a takeout menu. In _yellow highlighter_. Seriously, who _does_ that?

From over Ed’s head, Roy takes the letter from his hands. Ed growls in protest, stretching his arms up to retrieve it, but Roy raises it out of his reach.

“You bastard, give it back!” Ed shouts.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you from all the way up here,” says Roy with a vicious snicker.

“You can’t do that to me! I’m the title character! You’re just jealous there’s no _Flame Alchemist_ anime, you piece of shit!”

“I hear this incessant buzzing in my ear,” Roy says, mockingly bringing a hand to his ear. He cringes. “A tiny bug, maybe.”

Ed’s eyes bulge out of his head. He jumps up and down in a futile effort to snatch the page out of Roy’s hand. He only holds it up higher, laughing maliciously.

“ _Hey_!” Greed says, the vein in his forehead beginning to throb. “Can we quit the bullshit and get this over with?”

Roy and Ed stop at once. They look at Greed, realizing suddenly that this is the most emotion he’s shown since Carlos left last episode.

“Okay,” Roy says, letting his hand drop to his side. “You’re right. Let’s do this.” He clears his throat and reads from the beginning, to the best of his abilities. “Today you will honor your fallen tribe mates in the Survivor Rite of Passage. Heiderich constructed a map that will take you through an unknown area where you’ll find several checkpoints. In previous seasons, each checkpoint has normally been marked by a torch or fancy object with the castaway’s name on it, but due to budget cuts we had to get a bit creative. I hope you’ll understand. Anyway,” Roy sighs, shaking his head, now addressing Ed and Greed. “Some scribbles and indecipherable symbols. I’m fairly certain one of these is a Xingese character.” He runs his finger along the page, squinting. “It looks like the word ‘reminisce’ and then – is that a phone number?” Roy brings the page down. “Alright. Whatever. The point is, we have to follow the map and collect some kind of item to represent everyone we’ve voted out from the beginning. Sound good?”

“Fine by me,” says Greed. Map in hand, he starts toward their path. They walk beneath the shade of foliage while the viewers are treated to more scenic shots. Soon after, they make it to their first checkpoint.

Ductaped to a pole is a used post card with its recipient’s information scribbled out. The name _KIMBLEE_ is scrawled over the front in sharpie.

“Kimblee,” Ed, Roy, and Greed halfheartedly announce. Roy pulls the card off and sighs.

“Kimblee was…” Roy shakes his head. He looks at the others. “Uh…Kimblee was, you know…”

“He…played this game,” Greed adds, almost questioningly. Kimblee hadn’t been on his tribe and he didn’t know squat about him in canon. He taps his chin. “He had those hand tattoos in that one challenge.”

They turn to Ed whose stare is fixed on the post-card. After a moment, he says. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I hated him.”

“UGH!” Roy exclaims, abruptly turning away. “Fuck! Me too! Let’s just move on.”

> _Kimblee is next and takes far too much delight in watching the paintball explode. He claps his hands in glee and everyone, including Jeff Probst, shouts, “KIMBLEE, NO!”_
> 
> _But nothing happens. Everyone settles back in relief._
> 
> _“Sorry,” Ed says, rolling his eyes. “Habit, you know.”_

* * *

And move on they do. The second checkpoint is yet another rusty pole, this time with a torn chunk of cardboard with _ALPHONSE_ written across it.

Ed falls to his knees before the pole, pressing his automail palm to it–which is actually quite awkward now that it no longer has any fingers.

“Al,” Ed says, closing his eyes, gripping the pole with his opposite hand. He takes in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I let you get eliminated.” He stops, ponders, then shakes his head. “Well, _Winry_ let you get eliminated. But…” He sighs. “I miss you, little brother.”

“If it’s anything,” Greed says, tearing the cardboard away from the pole. “I was all in for voting out Wrath. I tried to save your brother.”

Roy makes a face at him. “Hawkeye and Havoc said you were only doing that because you wanted Bradley’s–”

“I know you’re not perfect,” Ed continues, pressing his forehead to the pole in his grief. “I know you can’t provide me with caviar omelettes, artisan products, or freshly popped kettle corn. But you’re still the best brother I ever had and I’d give both arms and legs to bring you back into this game.”

“He’s eliminated, not dead,” Greed mutters.

Roy shrugs. “I’d have voted him out the second we merged.”

Ed turns to glare at him. If Roy isn’t mistaken, there are tears glistening in the boy’s eyes.

“Oh, come on,” he snorts. “Like anyone could have beaten _him_ in a jury vote.”

Ed turns away. He would have gladly lost to Al. Even now, after everything, he plays this game first and foremost for him.

Ed gives Al’s pole a watery smile, rising to his feet. He nods once and says, “I’m going to win for us, Al. This won’t have been in vain.”

Greed yawns, already bored. “Okay, we have thirteen players to go. Move your asses.”

> _“I guess a part of me knew it would come to this,” says Alphonse. “I only wish things had gone differently. I gave it my all, but for some reason, that just wasn’t good enough for my shallow tribe members.” He shrugs. “When I get my body back, I’m going to have an enormous feast and nobody is invited except for Winry and Brother. And cats. Lot’s of cats.”_

* * *

Ed, Greed, and Roy continue their trek through this uncharted jungle they’re fairly certain was not scouted prior to this event.

“This cannot be safe,” Ed says when they encounter a withering rope bridge that threatens to snap as they cross.

At last, they make it to the next checkpoint. A 2x2 hunk of wood with the name _SCAR_ jaggedly carved into its surface.

Ed picks it up and immediately drops it. “Ah! Splinters!”

Greed’s black shield slips over his hand. He plucks it off the ground, examining it.

“Oh, Scar,” Roy sighs. His hands rest on his hips. “Good riddance.”

“He never talked much,” Ed adds. “Always just kind of…existed on camp. Not to say he wasn’t unsettling as hell. I mean, he _did_ try to murder me in cold blood once.”

“Yeah,” says Greed. He taps his fingertips against the splintery wood. “Scar…Scar was…you know…Scar was Scar–”

“You have absolutely no idea who he was,” says Ed.

“God, no.” Greed slides a hand into his hair, closing his eyes in concentration. “I take it Scar _isn’t_ the little Xingese girl?”

 _That’s my half-sister,_ Ling says inside Greed’s head.

“Well, I’m _sorry_!” Greed exclaims, not sounding sorry at all. “Not like half these assholes were even on my tribe!”

As they see Greed is beginning to get worked up, Roy takes that as a cue to lead them away.

> _“Perhaps I was just not cut out for this,” Scar’s voice says as he swims away from the island and toward a boat that shows up out of nowhere. “Perhaps I just let the island get to me and force me to act with irrational violence. The uncertainty of each day. The insufferable people on my tribe. And the knowledge that I was meant for greater things. Things far greater than winning a reality television game.”_

* * *

They trudge forward, avoiding snakes and venomous bugs. At some point, Roy trips on a branch and falls face-first against a plant that leaves an angry rash on his cheek. From that point on, Ed and Greed maintain their distance.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Greed says sometime later.

“I second that,” says Ed, shuffling closer to the homunculus.

Roy groans, scratching his rash. “Why this?”

They make it to the next checkpoint. A jagged corner of what looks like an Elmer’s science board is taped to the pole. The name on it is _MAY_.

“May!” Ed and Roy say together, Greed monotonously joining in halfway through.

“Oh, man,” says Ed with a laugh, taking her name. “She was out of her mind.”

“You said it.” Roy cringes, remembering the way her tiny knife sunk into his shoulder that one night. He rubs over the scar with a wince.

“But,” Ed says. “Despite everything, having her around camp was never boring.”

“Remember when she had us all sit in a circle and talk about our feelings?” Roy laughs, nudging Ed, which earns him a horrified look. Remembering his skin illness, Roy averts his eyes, mumbling an apology.

Rubbing his arm, Ed nods with a smile. “Yeah. It sure was one wild night. I mean, you got _stabbed_.”

Greed backs away. “What in the hell even _happened_ on your campsite?”

> _“NO TALKING WITHOUT THE STICK!” May shrieks, having sprung up into a fighting stance. Three identical knives are nestled in between her fingers._
> 
> _“Where the hell did she get those?” Rebecca whispers to Olivier. She screams as a second knife cuts through her hair._
> 
> _“DID I STUTTER?” May shouts, actual flames beginning to flicker in her wide eyes._

* * *

And so they keep walking, blah, blah, blah. Cue aesthetic shots here with that one Survivor drum track playing over it. The next checkpoint has a piece of notebook paper with the name _IZUMI_ written on it.

“Teacher!” Ed exclaims cheerfully.

“Finally.” Greed pulls the page free. “Someone from _my_ tribe.” Then he remembers the circumstances of her elimination and he sours.

Balling his hand into a fist, he growls, “ _Wrath_.”

Roy laughs. “Oh, yeah. I remember Hawkeye telling me that Fuhrer Bradley pulled a hidden immunity idol out of nowhere.”

Izumi’s page crumbles in Greed’s fist. He trembles furiously.

“Oooookay!” Ed laughs uncomfortably and gently pries the paper from Greed’s hand. “I think I’ll take that.”

“She didn’t deserve to go that way!” Greed says. He frowns. “I liked her. She was a woman who knew what she wanted.”

“She beat the crap out of your past-self in Dublith,” Ed tells him. He shrugs. “I’d have loved to play the game with her. I’m sorry she was voted out before the merge.”

“ _She_ wasn’t voted out!” Greed snarls.

“Let’s move on,” Roy says quickly, taking Greed by the shoulders and steering him away.

Greed screams, tumbling out of Roy’s hands. He whirls around. “I told you not to touch me!”

> _“You have ten seconds to get to the point before I kill you dead right here and now,” Izumi warns._
> 
> _Greed tilts his head to the side in confusion. “Lady, you know I’m a homunculus, right?”_
> 
> _“Is that a challenge?” Izumi asks, her eyes beginning to glow a hot shade of red. Greed swallows with a hard shudder._
> 
> _“Noted,” he says warily._

* * *

“Are we done yet?” Ed moans as they venture to the next checkpoint. “I’m so tired.”

“We’re only halfway through,” says Roy. “Come on, Fullmetal. You’re a shounen protagonist. Walking around the world is your life.”

“Excuse you, I take _trains_ ,” Ed mutters.

They come across a pole with one of the flashcards from the Jeff Probst trivia challenge. Scribbled underneath the answer “zumba every third Tuesday of the month” is the name _WINRY_.

Ed smiles softly. He approaches the pole with his hands in his pockets. “Hey, gearhead.”

“This is already too dramatic for me,” Greed says, turning away. “Let me know when you’re through.”

Ed opts not to mention the fact that Greed himself has been living in a miserable daze ever since his pet dolphin swam away. He instead focuses on the name in front of him.

“I wish we could have made it to the end together,” he says, pulling the card free, holding it in his hands.

“Hahaha.” Roy shakes his head. “We blindsided her.”

Ed slowly turns his head, a low growl sounding from the back of his throat.

“You could afford to look a little sorry,” Ed mumbles. He looks down at the card he holds. “I know I am. Sorry for trusting the Colonel, anyway.”

“Oh, please. You act like my betraying you was _shocking_ ,” Roy says with an eyeroll. “You should have seen this coming from a mile away. If anything, your negligence was her downfall.”

For a second, Ed is totally speechless. He managed to sputter out a furious, “Are you kidding? She _trusted_ you!”

“Who cares whose fault it was?” Greed says, taking Winry’s card from Ed and leading the way out. “We’ve gotta go.”

“He’s right,” says Roy. “We need to keep moving.”

“You’re a no-good conniving bastard. You know that, Colonel?”

Roy walks past him, condescendingly patting Ed’s hair antenna as he goes. Ed scowls.

“Come along now, Edward,” he says with a snarky grin.

> _“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Winry says with an innocent lilt to her voice. “I’ve never schemed a day on this island. Some of us are just trying our best to get by.”_
> 
> _Lan Fan begins to growl._
> 
> _“We shouldn’t demonize the whole tribe,” Winry continues. “Nobody is perfect.”_

* * *

And so, they continue under the cloudy gray sky. The air has gone quite muggy. Roy wipes a sheen of sweat from his brow and complains, “Great. It’s more humid than usual. It’s probably going to rain soon.”

“Wouldn’t want you to be any more useless than you already are,” Ed mutters.

Roy glowers at him. “You know what, Full–”

“Hey, look, the next checkpoint,” says Greed hollowly. He takes a deep breath. Every day, these assholes remind him why he doesn’t believe in making friends. He points to a pole with another piece of paper labeled _ALEX_.

“Look, it’s the Major!” says Ed. He peels the page away from where it’s taped and smiles. “Not going to lie, sometimes I miss him. He’s the only person whose intentions I never needed to question.”

Roy runs a hand through his hair, smiling with fondness. “I was personally content keeping him around. I never wanted to eliminate him so early on.”

“Yeah, no,” says Greed with a grimace. “The guy ripped his shirt off every five seconds and cried during every tribal council. I couldn’t stand him on Yellow.” He looks down and whispers, “and he stole my coconuts. The bastard.”

> _“A symbolic gesture for our convergence!” Armstrong cries while tying the new bandana around his bicep. “How poetic! How beautiful! What a monumental day this is!” In his excitement, he gathers Edward into his massive arms and wields a crippling embrace on his tiny form. Ed shrieks in alarm, but is only released at the unmistakable sound of crunched metal._

* * *

On they go. The longer this entire sequence continues, the less creative these transitions become. Though the author is nowhere near as exhausted by this as the castaways who bitch and moan under their breaths that this is taking far too long and still lacks the emotional impact Jeff Probst was probably expecting.

And then they make it to their next checkpoint. A pole marked by a Six Flags brochure with the name _FUHRER BRADLEY_ written across in silver sharpie.

Greed smiles from ear to ear when he approaches it. He violently rips the brochure free and waves it around.

“Well, look who made it to the final three to _dance on your grave_ , Wrath!” Greed laughs.

“God, the Fuhrer was insufferable,” Roy begins. “I mean, he–”

Greed whirls around, fury flickering in his violet eyes. Through gritted teeth, he says, “I wasn’t _finished_ , piss-ant.”

Roy takes a step back, raising his palms mockingly.

Greed turns back around, all smiles again. He slaps the pole with the brochure. “You spent all your time on the Yellow tribe lounging around like a spoiled little freeloader because you had yourself fooled into thinking you’d make it to the end.”

He slaps the pole harder. The impact rattles it. Ed and Roy share a look.

“Well, _guess what_!” Greed exclaims. “Ya didn’t! How does it _feel_ , Wrath? How does it feel to know that I, Greed the Avaricious–”

“Okay, that’s enough,” says Ed. He grabs Greed by the sleeve. “Let’s go, Greed.”

“No!” Greed screams. He wrestles out of Ed’s grip and falls to the ground. He reaches out toward the pole. Ed and Roy grab either of his legs and drag him away and through the dirt.

“Greed, we have a word count to adhere to!” Roy scolds. “And we know you can go on for hours!”

“Fuck, just one more minute!” Greed bargains. “One more minute and I swear I won’t say anything else for the rest of the episode!”

“We’re leaving,” says Ed.

Greed slams his fist against the ground. He points at the pole as he’s taken away, yelling, “I still won, you bastard!”

> _“Actually, Jeff Probst,” says Bradley, reaching into his pocket, “I think now would be a good time to play this.” He pulls out an ear of corn, slightly rotted, with seashells glued to its side. Written over the leafy part in sharpie are the words_ HIDDEN IMMUNITY IDOL _._
> 
> _Riza plugs her nose and makes a gagging noise. “Oh my god, what the hell is that?”_
> 
> _“I found it while I was excavating my pool,” says Bradley, holding it out to Jeff Probst._
> 
> _“You built a pool?” Winry asks. “We’re on an island. We’re surrounded by water.”_
> 
> _“Mrergh,” Bradley replies._

* * *

The bad weather does a number on Ed’s automail leg. His already-rusted joints ache and the distance doesn’t help. So he limps along, cursing the author for writing so many damn characters into this game.

“Alright, who’s next?” he asks gruffly.

“Checkpoint up ahead,” Greed points out, somewhat bitterly. He’s still reeling from their previous encounter.

They stop at a pole, though there isn’t a name on it. Instead, there is a pencil drawing of a stick figure with wavy hair. Beneath it, a question mark is drawn.

“Who the fuck is this?” Ed demands.

Greed scratches his head, bringing his face closer to the drawing. He peers intently at the stick figure’s happy face.

“This ring any bells to you guys?” he asks.

Roy snaps his fingers, bouncing up and down as he searches his memories. “ _God_ , I feel like I know this!” He closes his eyes, murmuring, “Okay, what’s the elimination order? Winry, Armstrong, Bradley, Havoc…no, wait…”

“Is this person on the jury?” Ed asks, visualizing the jury bench, trying to place the missing castaway. “Who were they allied with?”

“Did I blindside them?” Roy asks. His face twists in bafflement. He nods once. “Probably, right? I blindsided a lot of people.”

Everyone falls silent, staring at one another, trying to find the answer in someone’s eyes, but to no avail.

“Well,” Ed says, gesturing to the page. “Uh…someone say something for them.”

Greed shakes his head. “What do I even say? Who is this person?”

“Rrrrr,” Roy sounds quietly. He furrows his eyebrows. “It’s an R name. I think.”

They lapse into quiet again, unsure of how to proceed. Ed whistles softly. Roy digs the toe of his shoe into the dirt.

“Uh,” says Greed. He clears his throat. “It was…such a shame…when this person was voted off.”

“Such a shame,” Ed agrees quickly.

“Yes,” Roy adds.

Awkwardly, Greed turns on his heel. Roy and Ed follow him.

> _Havoc’s face contorts. “Who the_ hell _is Rebecca?”_
> 
> _And that’s when Rebecca caves._
> 
> _“Me!” she explodes, turning away from Riza and yanking on Havoc’s bandana/buff. “_ I’m _Rebecca! Not Roxanne! Not Rosy! Not Romilda! RE-BEC-CA!”_

* * *

The next checkpoint comes after an exhausting climb up a treacherously steep hill. Greed, in the lead, clambers to the top, where the next pole stands. He pulls at the scrap of cardboard taped to the pole displaying the name _HAVOC_.

When Greed overturns it, it’s revealed to be a portion of a Cheerios box, though the small rectangle where the Box Top coupon would be is neatly cut out.

“Ahh, Havoc,” says Roy with a smile. “My disloyal knight.” He shakes his head with a _tsk_. “It could have been you in the final three with me. Instead, you chose to rebel.”

Greed and Ed look at each other, then glare at the Colonel.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ed asks.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re _my_ followers,” Greed says, which prompts Ed to redirect his dirty look his way.

“Havoc, though,” Roy says, setting his hands on his hips. “Havoc was a trip.”

“He hated your guts by the end,” Ed points out. He chuckles a bit. “I can’t even blame him.”

“I dunno,” Greed says with a shrug. “I kind of liked the guy. After all, he won the immunity challenge that got Wrath eliminated.”

Ed frowns. “The Fuhrer wasn’t eliminated. He qui–”

“Fullmetal,” Roy whispers. When Ed looks at him, Roy signals that he stop talking.

Greed sighs. He turns around. “Well, onto the next.”

> _“Havoc, no,” Roy says._
> 
> _“It’s too late for that!” Havoc proclaims, swinging the immunity necklace over his head. “I’m not playing for money, fame or glory, Colonel! I’m playing for love! The love I have for Robin Catalina!”_
> 
> _Rebecca goes red. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”_

* * *

“God, how many words has it been?” Ed pants as he limps further through the jungle. Greed and Roy walk in front, but both’s steps have slowed significantly since the beginning of the chapter.

“I dunno,” Greed says. “At least four thousand.”

“Uggggghhhhhhh,” Ed groans.

The next checkpoint pole has an empty Tostitos bag taped to it. _MAJOR GENERAL OLIVIER MIRA ARMSTRONG_ is written across.

Roy picks it up. “Why is she the only one who gets her full name?”

“Are you surprised?” Ed asks. “Jeff Probst was clearly terrified of her.”

Greed sheepishly rubs his arm and admits, “Honestly, so was I. I wonder what it would have been like to play with her on the same tribe.”

Roy shudders, remembering the time General Armstrong had broken his fingers by bending them back. He grimaces. “Yeah, you weren’t missing out.”

“What a player she was, though.” Ed sighs. “But it was a relief when she was gone.”

Roy looks back down at the Tostitos bag, smirking. “Oh, Olivier. Beautiful, vicious Olivier. Who could have thought that I’d be collecting _your_ name during the Rite of Passage?” He holds the bag to his heart, closing his eyes with a facetious smile. “Perhaps when I finally win Survivor, you’ll accept my dinner invitation.”

Ed gives him a tired look. “Yeah, okay, Colonel, let’s go.”

> _“Personally, I feel many of my tribe mates are beneath me,” Olivier says. “You put a soldier from Briggs on this island, they would have won the game by now. My men, they find a way. By day 3, Buccaneer would have disposed of Jeff Probst and taken to hosting the show himself.”_
> 
> _She crosses her arms. “The only reason I haven’t played to my most conniving capacity is because I want to win this fair and square.” The General smiles. “And I want to watch Mustang squirm while I do.”_

* * *

By the time they make it to the next checkpoint, they see the first flash of lightning in the sky. Soon after, it begins to pour. Roy whimpers, pulling the back collar of his shirt over his head.

“Oh, _great_ ,” Ed mutters. “On top of everything, now it’s raining!”

Greed doesn’t say anything. The dismal weather and act of reminiscing has begun to make him quite sad. Sure, it’s nice to look fondly on the past, but Greed hadn’t actually been _friends_ with any of these people.

Where’s Carlos’s checkpoint? Why doesn’t Greed get to honor _him_?

The homunculus sighs, sticking his hands into his pockets. He glances up, where a crumpled up newspaper clipping is taped to a pole, the name _RIZA_ written across it.

Everyone stops to look at Roy. He stares ahead blankly. Rivulets of rain fall down his face like tears. He slowly approaches the pole, detaching the newspaper clipping.

“Lieutenant,” Roy says softly.

“Here we go,” Ed mutters. Unapologetically, he shrugs. “Listen, I know we’re supposed to say something nice about everyone, but Lieutenant Hawkeye was a nightmare.”

Roy turns around with such a scalding look that Ed nearly chokes. He takes a meek step back.

“Carlos always hated the rain,” Greed says, staring down at his shoes as raindrops drip from the ends of his hair. “He must be so scared right now.”

“Remember that _you_ voted her out, Colonel,” Ed says. He lifts a shameless finger. “Plus, she performed alchemy on the island. That’s simply unforgivable.”

Roy shakes his head, averting his eyes. He looks down at the newspaper clipping, soaked through with rain. The name on it is barely legible anymore.

“Hawkeye,” Roy begins, “you and I were…well, we could have been the final two standing.” More confidently, he adds, “I mean, you would have never _won_ against me. But I still would have brought you to the end out of principle.”

“You cannot possibly be shocked that she went behind your back,” Ed says under his breath.

“We were thick as thieves.” Roy laughs. “Guess that didn’t mean much to you.” He closes his eyes, exhaling a long breath. “I trusted you to watch my back, and that’s where you stabbed me.”

Roy looks at Greed and Ed with a watery smile. “I guess it’s true what they say. The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger.”

Ed lifts a brow. “That’s a Fall Out Boy lyric.”  

“Is not,” says Roy. He holds the soggy newspaper to his heart.

“And you blindsided _her_ in the end!”

“What’s Fall Out Boy?” Greed asks. “Do you think Carlos would have liked it?”

> _Elsewhere, the snipers have gone hunting for their tribe’s dinner. Havoc has two birds hanging from his belt, which would be impressive if Riza didn’t have twenty eight._
> 
> _“This is bullshit,” Havoc mutters. “You’re not even aiming at anything. It’s like these birds are magnetically drawn to your shots.”_
> 
> _“That’s nonsense,” says Riza, who, keeping her eyes trained on Havoc, lets a makeshift arrow fly in a completely random direction. A bird hits the ground with a pierced gut seconds later._

* * *

Splashing through puddles, drenched and covered in mud, the final three finally make it to their final checkpoint. They stop in front of, not a pole, but a large gazebo covering a wooden podium. Ed, Greed, and Roy look at each other.

They slosh forward and then step beneath the dry canopy only to find that a linoleum floor was installed. In the middle of the jungle.

Their waterlogged clothes drip onto the polished tile. Ed nearly slips on a puddle. Confusedly, they all survey the area.  

“What the hell?” Ed questions

“I want this gazebo,” says Greed.

Roy stops before the podium where a solid gold star rests on its surface. Engraved in calligraphy is the name _LAN FAN_.

“Are you kidding?” Roy asks, looking down at Riza’s newspaper clipping, crumbling to wet pieces in his hand.

Ed picks the star up, surprised by how dense it is. He turns it around. In smaller letters, there is a message that reads _(Good luck, Ed!)_.

He quickly turns it back around before anyone can see. Nervously, he laughs. “You think this has anything to do with how many questions Lan Fan answered correctly in the trivia challenge?”

“Is _this_ where all the budget went?” Roy demands incredulously. He kicks the podium. “What the hell?”

“That star is mine,” Greed says, eyeing it.

Defensively, Ed holds it to his chest. “No way. We’re burning this just like we’re burning everything else.”

“Shouldn’t we say a few words about Lan Fan?” Roy asks, gesturing to the podium. “I mean…all things considered.”

Ed frowns, shifting in place. Suddenly, he remembers every horrible thing they put Lan Fan through from the very beginning. Forcing her to ally with Mustang, taking apart her arm, tossing her between allies, and ultimately stealing the final immunity win from under her nose. The challenge Lan Fan would have _won_ had Ed not cheated.

If not for that, no doubt Lan Fan would have won tomorrow's immunity challenge. And had she made it to this point, she would have won Survivor in its entirety. Ed has no doubt about that.

“Lan Fan is a triumph to the human spirit,” says Ed. “She didn’t let any of our foul play or blatant sabotage get her. She made it to the final four in her condition, holding her own in every immunity challenge even when she didn’t win.”

“And she won what was perhaps one of the most physically taxing of them all,” Roy adds.

“I’d have rooted for her had she made it to the end,” Greed admits, smiling. He shrugs. “What can I say? I’ve always had a soft spot for the underdog.”

“She deserves to be here,” Ed says sadly. “Honestly, she does. Not any of us. She played the game with honor, skill, and purpose. What did we do? Lie, steal, and cheat?”

Greed and Roy stay quiet. They have a moment of silence for Lan Fan. Until Roy hesitantly asks, “But…we totally made the right decision in voting her out.”

“Oh, hell yes,” says Greed. “All of these reasons are _exactly_ why. Who the hell wouldn’t vote for her against one of us? We’re terrible people.”

“Well, _you guys_ are terrible people,” says Ed. “I’m still the main character. I have an image to uphold.”

> _Lan Fan closes her eyes with a smile. After everything–jumping from alliance to alliance, having her arm sabotaged by Roy Mustang and his dogs, taking a knife in the leg, having to put up with Edward Elric’s incessant whining–the immunity necklace is finally around her neck._
> 
> Grandfather would be so proud _, she thinks, tears prickling her eyes._
> 
> _“This,” she says out loud, as Jeff Probst bestows the necklace upon her, “is for Xing. And–”_
> 
> _“This really doesn’t require a speech,” says Jeff Probst through a yawn._

* * *

Heiderich’s map leads them to a fire pit at last. They toss their fallen tribe mates inside, but due to the rain, they cannot actually light it.

“Huh,” says Ed, prodding a wet chunk of wood with a stick. “This must be what the Colonel feels like all the time.”

“I think I’m going to head back to camp,” Greed says tiredly. It’s been a trying day, both physically and emotionally. He wants nothing more than to lay against the sand face-first and sleep until tomorrow.

“Not so fast,” says Roy, who finds an envelope lying beside the fire pit. He opens it and pulls out a letter.

Greed and Ed both groan.

“No!” Ed whines. “I just wanna go to sleep. What else _is there_?”

“You’ve just completed the Rite of Passage,” Roy reads. He winces as rain drips into his eyes, obscuring his view. He wipes them away, muttering, “Dammit. _Dammit_. Ah, okay. Anyway.” He begins again. “You’ve just completed the Rite of Passage. After you’ve burned your tribe members to symbolize how all of your time with them was meaningless, you’re to report to the immunity challenge. I realize we’re cutting this very close. The reason being, I was just informed by CBS that we need to vacate the premises within the next few days as SciFi has leased the island to film the next _Sharknado_ movie. It’s going to be great. They offered me a cameo. Love, Jeff Probst.”

“No,” Greed whispers.

“I can’t.” Ed falls to his knees. He curls up on the cold, wet ground. “I can’t do it.”

Roy wads up the letter and throws it into the fire pit. What he’d give to transmute a fire to set this entire island ablaze. He’s so tired. He can only scheme and manipulate for so long before it takes a toll on him. He just wants rest.

Minutes later, for plot convenience, the rain stops so that they can light a fire. They watch their tribe mates burn.

“Hey, where’s Lan Fan’s solid gold star?” Ed asks, peering into the flames.

Greed, who’d stolen it when no one was looking, slips it under his shirt. “Probably melted or something, I don’t know.”

“That’s not,” Ed begins, but then stops. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

Once the objects have burned, Edward, Roy, and Greed plod away toward the challenge course.

It’s certainly going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! This chapter was rather long and draggy and I’m so sorry. I’d initially wanted to keep this and the immunity challenge together, but this ended up taking quite a few words. And I didn’t want to be overwhelming. Especially because it’s crackfic and I know it’s hard to keep something like this engaging for so many words at once. 
> 
> My brother (who helps a lot with this fic by beta-ing and bouncing ideas) and I were talking about Lan Fan’s run in the game and how we were both rooting for her to win. But we also knew we’d written ourselves into a corner where we just couldn’t save her when push came to shove. So, like Jeff Probst did for her kickass performance in the Probst trivia challenge, we wanted to honor her properly. XD
> 
> Next chapter determines ½ of the final two.
> 
> I hope you guys stick around, if you’re still reading! Thank everyone who’s read up until now. I hope it’s been amusing ;-;


	23. Episode 12 (Part 2)

It’s about an hour later when Ed, Greed, and Roy make it to the immunity challenge. It has long stopped raining and the sky has cleared, only to be replaced by blistering heat. Damn near collapsing atop one another from their fatigue, they dodder onto the course.

Jeff Probst waits beneath a parasol that Heiderich holds over his head. They stand on an enormous wooden dock with three parallel mazes of criss-crossed planks of wood that run to its edge. For each maze, a good hundred meters out into the water, there is a pole with a bag tied to it. 

“Puzzle pieces?” Ed murmurs in inquiry. He certainly hopes so. That increases his odds, at least over Greed who hasn’t shown to particularly care for strategy challenges. He may only need to worry about the Colonel.

“Welcome,” says Jeff Probst, “to your _final_ immunity challenge.” He moves forward, and Heiderich stumbles to follow with his parasol. “What happens here could very well determine who wins the game. How does that feel?”

“Can we get this over with?” Greed asks tiredly. “I’m ready to get back to camp.”

Roy and Ed mutter in agreement. Jeff Probst gives them a sour look.

“You could stand to be more appreciative,” Jeff Probst says. “After all, today’s challenge win comes with a special reward.”

Greed perks up. He shoves past Ed and Roy, widening his eyes. “Did you say reward? As in, possessions?”

Jeff Probst smiles. “Heiderich?”

The boy nods, holding the parasol with one hand, fishing into his pocket with the other. He brings out a key and drops it into Jeff Probst’s outstretched palm.

“Whoever wins the challenge,” says Jeff Probst, dangling the key by two fingers, “wins the key to Fuhrer Bradley’s palace.”

Greed trips over his feet. He hits the deck on his knees, but the astonishment overshadows any pain. He jerks his head up, staring at Jeff Probst with stars in his eyes. Drool trickles out from his gaping mouth.

Ed and Roy look nervously at one another. Shit, they’d been counting on Greed’s usual challenge complacence. They never anticipated him actually having a shot at _winning_.

But with that kind of motivation…

“Give it to me,” Greed says.

Jeff Probst conceals the key in his hand. “Win the challenge and it’s yours.”

“How did Jeff Probst even _get that_?” Roy asks under his breath.

Greed looks down, curling his fingers in against the splintered dock floor. “Win the challenge…”

“Crap,” Ed hisses, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “This is not good.”

“Ed,” says Jeff Probst.

Gulping, he straightens up hastily. “Jeff Probst.”

“I’ll be taking immunity back.”

Ed pats himself down, searching his pockets before he remembers that it isn’t on him. He looks up and flatly says, “I don’t have it. I didn’t think I was going to _need_ it when I left camp this morning.”

Jeff Probst closes his eyes with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair. “Heiderich, check  your pockets for something we can use as an idol.”

He does just that, turning a pocket inside out and subsequently examining the items in his hand. He says, “Um…I have one euro, a couple of almonds, a AA battery, and a paperclip.”

“Those items are awful,” Jeff Probst says. He shakes his head impatiently. “Fine, give me the battery.”

He gives it to him. Jeff Probst holds it up and says, “Immunity is back up for grabs. Are you guys ready to get to today’s challenge?”

“Honestly,” says Roy, hands on his knees from exhaustion, “no.”

“For today’s challenge,” Jeff Probst goes on brightly, “you’ll be blindfolded and have to maneuver through this maze. At the end, you’ll take off the blindfold and dive into the water where you will swim to your designated pole. You’ll find a bag of puzzle pieces tied to it. Once you retrieve them, you’ll swim back to shore and over to the tables on the sand.” He points, and when the castaways look back, three tables are indeed positioned on the beach. “First to solve the puzzle wins immunity, a key to the palace, and a guaranteed spot in the final two where you will plead your case to the jury as to why you should win Survivor.”

Roy smirks. That’s all he needs. To make the final two. He’s certain he can sway enough of the jury to win. Against Fullmetal or the homunculus? Piece of cake.

But.

He looks at Greed. He’s practically _glowing_ with avarice. He wants this. He will do whatever it takes to attain it.

Roy puts on his game face. This challenge could determine everything. He cannot afford to mess around. He’s the Flame Alchemist. The most OP character in the entire canon next to the Fuhrer. He once obliterated an unkillable being with nothing but a broken lighter. If he can’t win this challenge, who can?

Ed is less confident. Sure, he could probably kick the Colonel’s ass with no problem, but Greed is a homunculus. Ed hasn’t wanted to imagine how good he could be in a challenge if he actually _tried_.

He rifles through the options in his mind. If Greed wins, he has to choose between him or Mustang. Ed is the obvious choice. But then, wouldn’t bringing the most hated man on the island to the final two be more strategic? That was Lan Fan’s plan, anyway.

Greed’s mind is fixated on nothing but the key at the end of this challenge. He isn’t overly concerned with the glory or AA battery (though he wants those too). Right now, it’s about beating Wrath. And what better way to do it than to sleep in the bastard’s bed, shower in his tub, eat his food, and then rub it in his face come the final tribal council?

“Let’s draw for spots and get started,” Jeff Probst says.

With Roy on the far left maze, Ed in the middle, and Greed to the right, they are ready to go. All three are already blindfolded.

“For the very last time, for immunity,” Jeff Probst says, pacing up and down the dock with Heiderich and the parasol at his heels. “And a _guaranteed_ spot in the final two. Survivors ready?”

The three shift their weight forward, ready.

Jeff Probst brings a hand up, and then swipes it down. “Go!”

They take off, but all struggle immediately. Greed gropes the air until his hands rest atop a plank of wood. He runs his hands along it and murmurs, “Hey, brat. Think you can take over and help?”

Inside of him, Ling does the equivalent of shrugging. _Sorry, Greed. Unless sensing homunculi could help us in this challenge, I’m just as useless as you are_.

Greed swears and swings a punch into the wood.

Jeff Probst laughs. “Looks like Greed is off to a rough start.”

Ed perks up. Of course. Blindfolded, they’re all at an equal disadvantage. He uses his flesh hand to feel around, slowly making his way through the maze.

Roy on the other hand, spins around, unsure of how to proceed. He stops, spreads his arms out until his fingertips make contact with a wall, and follows it until he hits a dead end.

“Man,” Roy mumbles. “Imagine actually being blinded for something important. Like the Promised Day.” He stiffens at the thought. “Thank god that’s totally not within the realm of possibilities for me.”

He then thinks of how convenient it would be if he had the Lieutenant by his side right now, perhaps yelling directions to him. He’d make it out of this maze in no time. The two of them have always made an unstoppable team.

The Lieutenant…

God, he misses her. Roy decides that when he wins Survivor, he’s going to set things right with Riza Hawkeye. For the sake of the canon.

But first, he needs to win.

Greed maneuvers through the maze, bumping his head against planks of wood, then ducking under them. Fatigue is beginning to weigh him down, but the promise of that palace pushes his forward.

“Greed making progress!” Jeff Probst calls out. “Really wants that reward.”

“Dammit,” Ed whispers. He’s made some progress himself, but he can’t imagine he’s ahead of Greed. He bends down and tries to crawl under the maze, but his his head against a plank positioned toward the ground. He seethes in pain.

“I refuse to be useless,” Roy mumbles, slowly getting through the maze. “Not after everything I’ve had to do on this island. It won’t be for nothing.”

“Colonel Mustang, still very useless, in last place!” Jeff Probst calls.

Roy growls.

“Edward Elric taking advantage of his small size to squeeze through narrow spaces!” Jeff Probst says as Ed tumbles through an opening neither of his competitors would have been able to fit more than an arm or leg through.

Ed rolls over on the other side and feels his blood boil. He jumps into the air. “You bastard! Say that to my face!” Then he stops. “Wait, I think that was a compliment.” Then Ed realizes that’s what he needs to do. Not get around the wooden planks, but through them.

“And that’s how the runt is gonna win,” Ed says with a grin.

With Greed and Ling’s combined agility, they’re able to get through with minimal injuries. Every splinter and bruise disappears in a spurt of red sparks immediately after forming anyway.

“I want that palace!” Greed says through gritted teeth.

 _Hey, Greed!_ Ling says, skeptical. _You’ve always talked about wanting everything on this island. But is this, immunity and the Fuhrer’s palace, really what you meant?_

“Oh, yes!” Greed shouts. “Once I win immunity, the palace, and Survivor, _everything_ will be mine! Who knows? Maybe it will fill the emptiness inside me. An achievement like that could finally quench the thirst that I’ve lived with since the day I was born!” He jumps over a plank, but hits the next face-first. He stumbles to the side, rubbing and stretching out his aching jaw. “Damn.”

With Ed’s strategy, he pulls up to the lead. But as he’s about to exit the maze and rip off his blindfold, he finds that he can no longer move.

“Wha?” Ed questions. He grunts, pulling his body forward, and feels the tug against his shoulder.

Oh no.

Horrified, Ed runs his flesh hand along his automail, and surely enough, his right arm is deeply buried between several planks of wood.

“No,” Ed says. He tugs with all his might, but to no avail. “ _No_!”

“Ed appears to be stuck!” Jeff Probst announces.

“Dammit!” Ed pulls harder, but his arm just won’t budge. “Are you kidding me? _The last challenge_ and this has to happen?”

“Maybe that last hole was just a bit _too_ narrow, even for you,” Jeff Probst says, laughing to himself.

Heiderich looks determinedly at Ed. His brother is so close. All he has to do is grab the puzzle pieces and he can probably _win_.

Greed and Roy continue through the maze. Roy making more progress as he begins to get the hang of this.

 _How ignorant you are_ , Ling says with a sardonic laugh. _What you’re seeking is not what you truly want._

“Shut up!” Greed says. “You don’t know anything.” He fights through the maze, getting on his hands and knees to crawl under spaces, and jumping to his feet to make it over others. “I am Greed the Avaricious. I want everything!”

“Argh.” Roy kicks a plank of wood that gets in his way. “Hawkeye, I’m coming.”

“For Al,” Ed says, tugging his arm. He sounds choked up. “I _have_ to win this for Al! And Winry and teacher! I have to!”

Jeff Probst nudges Heiderich. “You know, I kind of want Ed to win. He and Lan Fan have always been my favorites.” This isn’t true. He didn’t care about either of them until the last immunity challenge. In fact, he often made fun of _all_ the castaways behind their backs in between tribal councils and challenges. But who is Heiderich to disagree with anyone supporting Ed?

“Brother,” Heiderich whispers. “Fight on.”

 _Greed_ , says Ling, This _is what you desperately wanted. Isn’t it?_

Greed stops, listening to Ed struggle for his loved ones, Heiderich and Jeff Probst root for Ed, the Colonel muttering contrite promises to the woman he betrayed.

And then he allows himself, for the first time since the challenge began, to think about Carlos. His henchman. His companion.

“Yeah. You’re right,” Greed says with resignation. “This is what I wanted. I wanted the chance…to have a friend like Carlos.”

With newfound inspiration, he activates his ultimate shield in its fullest form. With a yell, he powers through the maze, breaking through planks of wood as he goes.

“Greed back in this!” Jeff Probst yells. And then, Greed makes it past the maze and dives into the water. “GREED IN THE WATER!”

Ed’s heart leaps to his throat. Desperately, he pulls. “Come on! _Come on_!”

Roy makes it to the end of the maze, only marginally bruised. He rips his blindfold off and follows Greed into the water.

“Roy in the water!” Jeff Probst yells excitedly. “It’s between Roy and Greed! This is a challenge you do _not_ want to lose. After twenty-seven days, it’d be awful to be eliminated.”

Greed swims, covered in black shield material from head to toe. He’s got this, he’s _got this_. The palace, Survivor, all the friends he could ever want, are just within his reach.

And then he gets a leg cramp.

Greed loses his momentum. The muscles in his calf form an excruciating knot under his shield.

“No!” he gasps. He sinks underwater, outstretching his arm as if reaching for the sunlight blurring in through the ocean’s surface.

And then it’s over. Roy Mustang swims past him, and every single one of his desires speeds away alongside him. They’re gone. Out of Greed’s hands. And he’s left with nothing but a body of water and his own thoughts.

 _Aw, dammit_ , Greed thinks as he continues to sink. _It looks like this is the end._

 _No, Greed!_ Ling yells at him. _You can’t give up on Survivor now! You have to do this. For Xing. For Carlos. They’re still counting on you._ Carlos _is counting on you! He’s a part of your soul!_

What Ling really thinks is, there is no way in hell he can allow Greed to make his body look this pathetic on a televised show. But he keeps that to himself.

 _Carlos_ , Greed thinks, closing his eyes. He manages a chuckle. Bubbles rise to the surface. _He really made a fool of me_.

Greed’s hand drifts to his side. He surrenders to the water. To his loss.

 _I’ve had enough_ , Greed thinks, smiling. _Yeah, that’s all I really need. Carlos gave me everything I could want._

Ling sighs with impatience. _Greed, we’re not dying, you know. Plus if you’ve managed this entire soliloquy that probably means your cramp is gone. And I still want that trampoline_.

Greed ignores him, and concludes with, _Thank you…and goodbye, my friend_.

But then, something extraordinary happens. As Greed drifts off into this pitiful acceptance, a smooth fin slips under his arm and pulls him up. They break the surface, and Greed’s eyes fly open.

There, keeping Greed afloat, having saved him from his own surrender, is Carlos. He whistles, shimmying out of the water.

“C-Carlos,” Greed stammers.

Carlos nudges Greed with his snout.

Greed breaks out into a laugh. He hugs the dolphin fiercely and exclaims, “Carlos, you came back! You really came back!”

Carlos bobs his head up and down, then guides Greed toward his pole. With a grin, Greed tightens his grip on his best friend’s fin and yells, “For immunity! For the palace! For CBS! For _you_ , Carlos! Let’s win this!”

Carlos squeals, and then they’re off, dashing past Roy with ease. He stares after them in shock.

“HahahAHAHAHA!” Greed pumps his free fist in the air. “I am Greed the Avaricious! I want everything! I will obtain _everything_!”

Ed hears this and decides that as the main character, he will _not_ allow an anti hero or _Roy fucking Mustang_ to beat him in the single most important immunity challenge of the game. He swings his automail leg back to break one of the weaker boards, then grabs the broken piece and begins beating his arm with it.

“I will _not_ lose,” Ed grunts. “I won’t give up! I WON’T!”

He brings the wood down again and again and again, pounding crack after crack into his automail. With a war cry, Ed brings it down a final time, and his arm breaks away from his body completely. Its limp remains dangle from where it’s still trapped in between planks.

“Edward Elric _breaks his arm off_ and is BACK. IN. THIS!” Jeff Probst shrieks with such enthusiasm that his voice cracks.

Ed rips the blindfold off and dives into the water, backstroking with one arm and kicking his legs to gain the momentum he lost.

“Winry is gonna _kill_ me!” Ed pants as he swims.

“Ed catching up!” Jeff Probst announces. And that’s when Greed and Carlos grab their bag of puzzle pieces and start back to the shore. “Greed already on his way back with his puzzle pieces! That much closer to the final two!”

“Faster, Carlos!” Greed urges. The dolphin complies.

“Shit,” Roy wheezes as he goes on. He’s close. So close. All he has to do is make it back to shore. Surely, he can solve this puzzle fast enough to make up for the time he lost here.

Roy makes it to the pole, rips the bag free, and starts to swim back as fast as he can.

“Roy has his puzzle pieces!” Jeff Probst announces. “Colonel Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, stunningly _not_ in last place for a water challenge. He really wants to win this.”

“Final two, baby,” says Roy in between gasps as he swims.

Carlos leaves Greed close enough to the shore that he can make it on his own. The dolphin bobs his head with determination, as if to say, _Good luck, my friend_.

“I owe you one, Carlos,” says Greed. He pets his fin. “I’m going to win, alright?”

Carlos swims away, and Greed paddles out of the water and sprints up the shore. He empties his bag of puzzle pieces onto the table.

“Greed on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst yells.

Roy is almost back to shore when Ed grabs his own bag. He wastes no time in swimming back, driven by the sheer humiliation that would unsue should he be voted out tonight.

“Edward on his way back!” Jeff Probst announces. Heiderich’s eyes light up. He brings a hand to his racing heart.

“Brother,” he whispers. “You’ve got this.”

Roy stumbles out of the water and clambers up the shore. He dumps his puzzle pieces on the table, noting that Greed has already arranged a small segment of it. He is deep in concentration.

“Roy on the puzzle!” Jeff Probst calls.

Greed shuts his eyes, not allowing this to get to him.

Roy begins arranging, quickly bringing the correct pieces together. Greed works more slowly, very intent.

Ed makes it to the shore and runs up, only faltering slightly by his new lack of balance. He drops the bag on his table.

“Ed on the puzzle!” yells Jeff Probst. “Ed and Roy have both proven to be very good at puzzles in the past. Can they catch up? Or will Greed’s head start work to his advantage?”

Roy has half his puzzle completed in no time. Greed pays no attention and continues fitting pieces together.

 _Palace_ , he repeats to himself, like a manta. _Palace, palace, palace_.

Ed makes quick work of his puzzle, holding his own in this challenge. All three players are neck and neck.

“It’s anyone’s challenge,” Jeff Probst says. “Will it be Ed, Roy, or Greed? Which of these three will have a guaranteed spot in the final two?”

Ed has just a handful of pieces left. He starts to place them with haste. Roy is a bit farther ahead, with two pieces left. He places one, sees it doesn’t fit, and then goes to try the other.

And then Greed proves that slow and steady does indeed win the race. He places his final piece and slams his palm against the completed puzzle.

“Greed wins immunity!” Jeff Probst exclaims. He comes on over, Heiderich following with the parasol.

Roy brings his fists down against the table. Ed runs his hand across his eyes. He was so close. So, so, so, so close.

Greed smiles as Jeff Probst places the AA battery in Greed’s waiting hand.

“Greed,” says Jeff Probst. “You are safe from tonight’s vote. You are the only one who is guaranteed to be in the final two. Not only that, but as the only person eligible to vote tonight, you get to decide who to bring with you.”

Greed laughs. Such _power_. Everything he’d ever dreamed of is right in front of him.

“And.” Jeff Probst fishes the key out of his pocket. When he holds it out, Greed’s eyes sparkle.

“Your very own key to the palace,” says Jeff Probst.

Greed can only stare at it. This key seems ethereal. It practically glows. He isn’t sure whether or not he’s worthy to even be within its presence, let alone take it.

Then he remembers how pissed Wrath would be if he left all the lights on, hiking up his electricity bill.

Greed snatches the key from Jeff Probst’s hand, butterflies going wild in his stomach. Whatever lies beyond those palace doors, he isn’t sure he’ll ever truly be ready for.

But finally, _finally_ , the palace is his.

“Alright, head back to camp,” says Jeff Probst. By now, the sun is setting. “Tribal council tonight where one of you will be voted off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GREED WON HIS FIRST CHALLENGE! Second, if we count the one that he was partnered with Bradley for. Though, Greed likely doesn’t since he’d been trying to sabotage it and failed.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! And caught all the dialogue borrowed from the series XD 
> 
> Camp and elimination next chapter! And then, there is only the final two. Who is Greed bringing with him to the end?
> 
> As always, thank you guys for reading and being cool with how absurdly I pick on all of these characters. <3


	24. Episode 12 (Part 3)

Roy and Ed linger behind as Greed sprints back to camp at full speed. Ed idly tugs the stray wires dangling from his severed automail as they walk.

“I can’t believe you broke your arm off,” says Roy.

Ed scowls. All that effort, ultimately for nothing. Not only did he lose, he did so in _last place_.

“It’s like opening the Gate,” Ed mutters. “Gave up my leg, still didn’t get my mom. Only worse because at least Truth gave me clap-transmutation abilities.”

Roy looks onward. Greed is out of sight, but he can faintly hear his exuberant laughter from where he and Ed are. He won’t admit how bitter he is about this. He’d been one puzzle piece away from winning the challenge and guaranteeing himself a spot in the final two.

He casts a glance at Ed. The boy looks so miserable, even his hair antenna has gone limp. With that level of disillusionment, he’s probably an easy target. Roy can manipulate him into shooting himself in the foot with no problem.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“No,” Roy sighs, shaking his head. “It’s a lot more complicated than that. I need five votes to win and every single one counts. If Fullmetal thinks I had anything to do with his elimination, he’ll vote for Greed. I have to be more crafty than that. I can’t sabotage Fullmetal. I need to convince _Greed_ to do it for me.”

* * *

“You know, Colonel,” says Ed, walking with slumped shoulders and a hand in his pocket. “Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know I’ve never trusted you from Day 1. Even when I protected you during the first elimination. I only did it because I hated Kimblee more.”

Roy’s steps falter. Okay, he’d certainly not been expecting him to be so blunt. He gives Ed a cross look, but only briefly. Then he takes a measured breath.

“Fullmetal, you’re like a son to me,” says Roy.

Ed chokes on bile that rises up into his throat. He coughs into his arm. “What?”

Roy shrugs his shoulders, willing himself to keep this kindhearted and loving despite wanting to throttle the kid where he stands. “I mean, haven’t I always guided you right?”

Ed thinks of all the dangerous missions the Colonel has sent him on, all the short jokes, every time he’s sabotaged one of his allies in this game…

“No,” Ed says.

 _This ungrateful little snot_ , Roy thinks. What he says is, “Well, I do. I care for you. And I want you to know that no matter what happens tonight, you’ve always been my favorite ally.”

“The only parental figure I’ve had on this island was eliminated before the merge,” Ed says, rolling his eyes. “And maybe Lieutenant Hawkeye before she became a power-hungry psycho.”

Roy’s eye twitches. How dare he present the Lieutenant in such an unflattering light? But he retains his composure. “Full–”

“Look, I’m not an idiot,” Ed says, walking ahead of him. “I know you’re just trying to get on my good side in the event that I’m eliminated so you’ll have my jury vote.”

Roy laughs. “That’s nonsense.”

Ed throws a glare over his shoulder, and then stalks away. Roy sighs and follows.

* * *

Greed’s entire life is comprised of fleeting achievements. Friends he could have made. Things he could have had. Places he could have been to. Of course he’s used to disappointment to some degree. But it doesn’t prepare him for the impact of the hellscape that lies before him.

He collapses to his knees, the twinkle of embers and debris reflecting in his wide eyes. His stomach hollows, leaving him beyond a point of grief. Even beyond apathy. It’s like he’s forsakenly trapped in a desolated purgatory. He could only compare this moment to standing at the edge of the world, watching it burn.

The palace, _his palace_ …

He doesn’t notice when Ed and Roy catch up to him, each standing on either side of him, rendered speechless by the goings on before them.

It’s a long moment before one of them speaks. It’s Mustang saying, “Oh.”

Ed sucks in a breath. He glances down at a pallid Greed. He thinks if he so much as pokes the homunculus, he’ll tip over and fall apart like porcelain.

“Aw, Greed,” Ed says softly. “I’m…so sorry.”

“How was this accomplished so quickly?” Roy murmurs to himself. “We couldn’t have been gone for more than, what, ten hours?”

Greed inhales swiftly and then his shoulders sag. The AA battery falls out of his hand and rolls over the sand.

Where Fuhrer Bradley’s palace once stood, there is now nothing but sand and debris. Small fires continue to dance among what little rubble is left. Even the moat has been filled. The alligators, his eternal rivals, are nowhere to be seen.

Greed shakes his head. “I don’t…understand.”

That’s when they see a man walk past them wearing a hardhat and tattered yellow vest. Roy grips his sleeve and says, “Hey.”

The man pauses. “Oh. Hello there.”

Roy points to the barren landscape that once was the Fuhrer’s dwelling. “What happened? Who are you?”

The man adjusts his hardhat with a proud smile. “I’m Richard. I’m head of the demolition crew.”

“Demolition?” Ed questions.

“Fuhrer Bradley hired us from off site,” he explains. “He says some idiot got a locksmith to break in this morning and steal the locks so he could make a key. He wanted to ensure such a thing never happened again, so he called for a full demolition of the property.” Richard grins fondly at his work. “Yep, we blew that baby up.”

“Wait, how is that possible?” Ed asks. “The place had better security than a prison.”

“Plot convenience,” says Richard.

“Dammit,” Roy mutters. “It’s always plot convenience.”

Richard leaves them, and Greed tosses the worthless key away. He doesn’t even want to look at it anymore.

Ed and Roy glance at each other, then back to Greed. He falls back, sitting on the sand with his knees drawn up.

“Hey, now,” Ed says gently. He gets down beside him. “It’s alright, Greed.”

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“The way I see it,” Ed says, “this is an opportunity to become Greed’s favorite castaway.”

* * *

“You know,” Ed says, clapping his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter that the palace is gone. I mean, how great is it gonna be to rub it in Fuhrer Bradley’s face when it’s _you_ in the final two while he has to cast a jury vote?”

“If his transcriber doesn’t do it for him,” Greed mumbles, unimpressed. He gets up, slipping out from Ed’s grasp. He wavers a bit on his feet, then sluggishly starts to walk away. “I’m going to go find Carlos.”

When he’s gone, Roy and Ed are left to glare at one another. Mockingly, Roy repeats, “‘It’s alright, Greed!’” He scoffs. “You little sneak. Trying to comfort him in a moment of weakness?”

Ed turns his nose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I saw a tribe mate in distress and I only did what any respectable shounen protagonist would do.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I’m onto you, Fullmetal.”

Ed’s lip quirks into a lopsided smirk. “And I’m onto _you_ , bastard. May the craftiest win.”

* * *

The sky has gone dark. Greed sits at the edge of his rock while Carlos swims gleefully, trying to lift his spirits.

“I know,” Greed sighs. “Final two. I made it. I should be happy.”

Carlos whistles.

“And I am,” he goes on. “I’m happy, Carlos. I mean, we won immunity together…but…” He shakes his head. “What should I do now?”

Carlos splashes around for a bit. Makes some dolphin noises. Greed’s eyes go wide as he listens. Intently, he watches the dolphin’s blank eyes.

Suddenly, Greed bursts out laughing, despite himself.

“That’s brilliant,” he says. A smile spreads across his face. “You always know how to cheer me up, Carlos.”

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“The palace was small,” Greed says, staring down at his closed fist. “And my avarice is big. I want everything this world has to offer, and the first step is winning Survivor.” He looks up, then sputters a laugh. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while I wait.”

* * *

When Greed returns to camp, he sees that Ed and Roy are each nursing their own fires. Ed’s blazes far brighter than Roy’s which is still just a gust of smoke.

They both look up. Greed raises his eyebrow.

“OH!” Roy works at his fire more vigorously. “Greed! I was just getting dinner started.”

Ed snorts, tossing a stick into his superior fire. He laughs derisively. “Listen to him! Starting dinner? Well, check it out!” He skewers three pieces of shrimp and shoves the kebab through his flames. “I’m already halfway done!”

Greed takes a step back, astonished. Are these two trying to impress him so that he can take his favorite to the final two? Are they literally playing right into his hands?

“I’m making shrimp,” Ed goes on. “I had to swim out for miles to get it!” That’s a lie. He’d sent a smoke signal to Heiderich to bring it to him at once.

“Huh, that’s funny,” Roy says as his own fire comes to life. “Why would you have to swim so far out when there’s a perfectly useless shrimp right here on camp?”

Ed looks at Roy’s fire with a pitiful _tsk_. “You know, Colonel, maybe if you had your alchemy, you wouldn’t have started such a pathetic fire.”

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

Greed can barely contain his own excitement. It’s as if the palace fiasco from less than a page ago is old news. “These piss-ants are willing to wait on me hand and foot just for a shot in the final two!” He laughs uproariously. “Oh, man. This is too good! I can’t believe I didn’t see what an opportunity this was sooner!”

* * *

Minutes later, Greed is being fed a shrimp kabob by Ed while Roy sits on the other side with a frown and his arms crossed over his chest.

“How’s the shrimp?” Ed asks, peeling the tail away and popping another into Greed’s mouth.

“Delectable,” Greed answers with a grin.

Ed beams. He looks over at Roy and says, “Colonel, would you be so kind as to spile some water from one of the trees? Greed looks thirsty.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “If you think I’m going to–”

“I _am_ pretty thirsty,” Greed says, looking expectantly at Roy.

Eager to please, he jumps to his feet. “Water coming right up!” He winks over his shoulder. “Anything for _you_ , Greed.”

Roy runs over to the tree where Hawkeye used to spile water for the rest of the tribe to drink. Ed and Greed’s boisterous laughter is utter cacophony to his ears. Fullmetal, the little shit, must think himself so clever.

But Roy is one thing that Edward Elric is not and that’s underhanded. Oh, just wait until he gets a minute alone with the homunculus. He’ll ensure his spot all right.

When he returns with a seashell filled with water, he shoves Ed out of the way with his shoulder. Ed, off balance due to his lack of automail, hits the sand with a grunt.

“Here you go, Greed,” says Roy, bringing the seashell to the homunculus’s lips. Greed takes a hearty gulp.

“Yeah, thanks,” says Greed.

Ed growls, then scrambles to his knees. He grabs Roy by the back of his shirt, yanking him to the ground.

“You _runt_!” Roy gasps.

“You done kissing ass now?” Ed demands. “Because _my friend_ and I were just enjoying a delicious shrimp dinner that, last I checked, _you_ weren’t invited to!”

“Whoa, whoa,” says Greed raising his hands. “Time out. I don’t have friends.”

“Sorry, I meant leader,” Ed amends. He bows his head. “I am but your humble henchman.”

Roy fights the urge to gag. “Listen to yourself. Anyone can tell you’re just faking it so Greed will favor you.”

Greed chuckles. “Oh, yeah, about that.” He clears his throat. Ed and Roy straighten up, staring intently at him.

“I haven’t decided which one of you I hate the least,” Greed says. He looks at Ed. “You, for example, were obviously smuggling contraband onto the island without bothering to share with the rest of us.” Roy starts to laugh until Greed points an accusatory finger his way. He falls silent. “And _you_!” Greed scoffs with disgust. “The way you dispose of people through lies and manipulation. Makes me sick.”

Neither Ed nor Roy have a retort for that. Their eyes drop to their laps.

“So, I’ve decided,” says Greed, “that whichever of you can give me the best gift before tribal council starts will come with me to the final two.”

Ed looks skeptical. “And how do we know you’ll keep your word?”

“I’ve never told a lie in my life, kid,” says Greed. He brings a hand to his heart. “I solemnly swear to honor my decision.”

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“That’s…it?” Ed asks. “All I have to do is get Greed the better gift?” If he had two hands, he’d rub them together right now. “This’ll be a piece of cake!”

* * *

Later that night, Roy wonders when the actual hell tribal council is going to start. It’s already nearing midnight. He decides not to let that get to him.

With nothing on him but a rock and a seashell, he sets to work.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Sure, I could always transmute a gift,” Roy says, shrugging. “But why risk getting caught? I mean, look what happened to the Lieutenant.”

* * *

He begins carving into the rock with the same precision he’d direct his flame alchemy. The rock is about the size of his fist, but it’s the smoothest he could find lying on the ground.

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“I get the feeling Fullmetal is planning something extraordinary,” says Roy. “Luckily, I’ve got something up my sleeve that will guarantee Greed’s loyalty to me.”

* * *

Roy smiles to himself as he keeps at it. Sweat dots his hairline from the effort. He wipes it away with his forearm. He can’t stop. He won’t stop. This is his ticket into the final two.

* * *

Elsewhere in the jungle, Ed puts together the items he found. Seashells, a chunk of his broken automail, and a deflated water wing he found drifting through the water. He places them over a transmutation circle he’d drawn in the dirt with his finger and sits back on his heels.

“Hello, final two,” says Ed, dramatically raising a hand.

“Brother!”

Ed damn near shrieks in alarm. With a racing heart, he turns his head. Heiderich peeks out from a bush and whispers, “What are you doing?”

“Heiderich, remember when we agreed to meet every other day for ten minutes?” Ed asks, still breathless. “Did we _not_ see each other earlier?”

“Brother, you evaded disqualification by the skin of your teeth last time!” Heiderich scolds. He climbs out of the bush and Ed thinks he seems…angry with him.

Ed looks down at the transmutation circle. “Uh…”

“I can’t bail you out of trouble every time you break the rules!” Heiderich says. “We’re lucky it worked the last time. What if the Colonel sees you? Do you realize what a dangerous game you’re playing right now?”

Ed sighs. He doesn’t have _time_ for this. They’re going to have to leave for tribal council at any moment now.

Impatiently, he says, “Heiderich, this is my only shot at making the final two. You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Heiderich nervously brings his fingertips together. His eyebrows furrow. “What if you’re caught?”

“I won’t be!” Ed assures. He stands up and sets his hand on Heiderich’s shoulder. “Not if you keep a lookout.” He pushes Heiderich away. “If you see Greed or the Colonel, you’ll have to signal me somehow.”

“Brother–”

Ed gets back on the ground. “The Fullmetal Alchemist is about to perform his final transmutation – uh, on the island, anyway.” He smiles. “Stand back and enjoy the show!”

He brings his hand down and blue alchemic light crackles all around them.

* * *

Roy approaches Greed with his gift hidden behind his back. The homunculus is sprawled out beneath his special coconut tree, eating some leftover shrimp from dinner.

Roy clears his throat. When Greed looks up, he gives him the most charming smile he can muster.

“Greed,” says Roy. “I think you’ll find my gift to be up to standard.”

He rolls into a sitting position, excitement sparking in his chest. “Alright, let’s see it.”

Proudly, Roy holds out his rock. Carved into it is a subpar illustration of Carlos and Greed smiling together. Greed frowns, tossing it away.

“I hate it,” he says.

Roy blinks. He’d spent all night on that. The least he could do is _pretend_ to give a shit. But Roy is patient. After all, he _has_ to be if he expects Greed to choose him over Fullmetal.

“You hate it?” Roy questions.

“Yeah,” says Greed, scoffing at Roy’s gift. “I mean, you drew _Ling_ and Carlos. How am I supposed to take that?”

“It’s not Ling,” says Roy. He takes an even breath. “It’s you.”

“Looks like Ling,” says Greed, averting his eyes.

“Of _course_ it looks like Ling. _You_ look like Ling! You’re in his body!”

“Well, that was a nice try, Mustang,” says Greed, standing up. He pats the Colonel’s shoulder. “I guess all you can hope is that the Fullmetal brat came up with something even crappier.”

Greed departs, leaving Roy alone with his rock. Once he’s gone, Roy’s lips curl into a smirk.

Everything is going according to plan.

* * *

“Oh, _Greeeeeed_!” Ed sings, coming up from behind him.

Greed turns. Mustang’s gift was so pitiful, he can’t imagine Ed’s could be much worse. Besides, he was hoping the pipsqueak would win anyway. He really can’t stand Mustang. He lies too much. Greed has never been fond of liars.

Ed holds out a rubber ball. It’s bright blue and perhaps slightly smaller than a volleyball. When Ed shakes it, Greed hears the tinkling of a bell.

He looks at it, intrigued. “What’s this?”

“A toy,” says Ed, setting it in Greed’s hands. The homunculus turns it around, studying it. “For Carlos.”

Greed gasps. Ed begins to mentally rehearse everything he’s going to say to Mustang’s sorry face at the final tribal council when the bastard is on the jury.

“You…made this for Carlos?” Greed asks. He shakes the ball, laughing at the bell’s delicate noise. He looks at him with a jubilant smile. “How did you do this? How did you–” Greed cuts himself off, shaking his head. You know what? I don’t even care! You win, pipsqueak! No contest!”

“All right!” Ed exclaims, throwing a victorious fist in the air.

Greed holds the toy to his chest and goes toward the water. “I’ve gotta show this to Carlos! Thanks, piss-ant!”

Ed stretches on his toes, cupping the side of his mouth to call out, “No problem, Greed! See you at tribal, buddy!”

* * *

**Confessional: Edward Elric**

“And, that, Colonel,” says Ed, grinning from ear to ear, “is why you don’t try and challenge the main character.”

* * *

While Ed sits on his own, enjoying the peace and quiet of the island, Greed is in the ocean playing with Carlos. Roy seizes this opportunity.

He sits at the edge of the rock. This place seems to have become the default place where castaways come to Greed with last-ditch efforts to sway him.

Carlos is all whistles, playing with the toy Ed transmuted. And when Carlos is happy, so is Greed. He rubs his friend’s back as he prods the tinkling toy with his snout.

“Only the best for you,” Greed tells him.

“Greed.”

He scowls at Roy. “What are you doing here? I’m voting you off tonight.” He pets Carlos’s fin, turning away from him. “So, go away.”

Roy chuckles. He crosses a leg over his knee, casually leaning back. “I figured as much. Of course, if _I_ were in your position, my first choice would be to bring someone I know the jury would never vote as the winner.”

Greed rolls his eyes. “I don’t care where you’re going with this. I’ve made my decision.”

Roy swings his leg back and forth, gazing at the moon. Its silvery light sparkles over the dark ocean water.

“Maybe I’ve become somewhat of a monster in this game,” Roy says with a soft smile. “And if I’m eliminated tonight because of it, maybe I’m okay with that. After all, isn’t the real monster the game itself? For what it brings out in us?”

Greed sighs, already tired of this probably-meaningless monologue.

“It’s helped me realize something, though,” Roy says. He chuckles earnestly. “When I, who am called a ‘monster,’ fight a real monster, I can fully realize I’m just a human.”

“Yeah, that was beautiful,” Greed says, bored. “But it’s inexplicably time to leave for tribal council. For no reason other than because the author said so.” He yawns, climbing a rock to get out of the water. “And I’m exhausted, so let’s try and make this quick.”

As he’s leaving, Roy grabs him by the arm. Greed glances up to his swollen face and yanks his arm free.

“I told you not to touch me,” Greed says.

“Don’t be stupid.” Roy’s dark eyes bore into his. “You have one shot. If you take Fullmetal to the end, you’re wasting it.”

Greed cocks a brow, bemusedly smirking. “And if I’m so sure to win by bringing you to the end, why not just give up now?”

“Because you’re _not_ sure to win,” Roy says. “Nothing is sure in this game, only probable. I’m still banking on that one percent chance I’ll have in the final two. But if I give up now, I lose even that.”

Greed can’t help the laugh that escapes him. He shakes his head, shoving the Colonel away.

“Sorry, but I told the kid I was taking him to the end,” says Greed. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure to play this game with you, but that would be a lie. And as you know, I don’t lie. Your ass should have been eliminated long ago.” He raises a hand as he turns his back on him, walking away. “But, hey, thanks for clearing the island by way of blindsiding everyone. It helped get me this far.”

Roy’s silence is swallowed by the deafening chirps of surrounding crickets. He looks down at his shoes, his shoulders shaking as he laughs.

* * *

##  **_// TRIBAL COUNCIL //_ **

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time tribal council starts. Ed, Roy, and Greed hobble tiredly into the hut, collapsing onto their seats once their torches have been lit.

Jeff Probst stands behind a podium, looking cheerful as ever in a snuggie. He holds a steaming thermos in his hands. The coffee’s aroma wafts through the hut.

“Welcome to your final elimination,” says Jeff Probst.

“It’s three AM,” Ed complains.

“I’ll now bring in the members of our jury,” Jeff Probst announces. And so, the castaways watch them enter.

“Winry,” says Jeff Probst as they each take their seats. “Major Armstrong, Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber, Angelica, Havoc, Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong, Riza, and Lan Fan voted out in the last tribal council.”

Every single member of the jury looks like they just rolled out of bed. They wear pajamas, all of them have mussed bed head, and Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber isn’t even wearing his glasses.

But Ed, Roy, and Greed are focused on Lan Fan whose automail has not only been replaced, but upgraded. It’s even shinier and moves more fluidly than it did before.

She glances at Ed’s lack of arm, chuckles to herself, and then sticks an automail middle finger up at him.

Ed gulps. Okay, he probably deserved that. Then he looks at her arm with longing. Something this amazing can only be Winry’s fine craftsmanship. Suddenly, he’s jealous. Not only does she have two working arms, but she got _his_ mechanic to replace the one she’d lost!

“Welcome to the first ever pajama party tribal council!” Jeff Probst exclaims. He snaps his fingers and Heiderich enters wearing a rather ridiculous baret, wheeling in a cart of mugs, sugar, creamer, and a steaming pot of coffee. Anyone who’d been groggy is now wide awake.

“Heiderich!” Jeff Probst scolds. “I _told_ you to lose the hat.”

“But I thought it was fetching,” Heiderich says with a frown. “It makes me feel like a barist–”

“Take it _off_.”

Heiderich yanks the baret off his head and hurls it to the ground. Never, not once, has he ever been able to get his way.

“Jury,” Jeff Probst says, diverting his eyes to them. “Heiderich will prepare your beverages for you.”

As Heiderich sets to work, grumbling to himself, Jeff Probst looks over at the castaways who are filthy and look like they’d rather be dead than sitting here right now.

“I’d kill for some coffee,” Roy mumbles. “We’ve been up and active since yesterday’s sunrise.”

Jeff Probst ignores him and says, “Heiderich, make a cup for Ed too. He looks like he needs it.”

Roy and Greed aren’t even surprised at this point. But it doesn’t lessen the venom in their glares when Heiderich sets the mug in Ed’s hand.

“And,” says Jeff Probst, pulling out two packages of biscotti. “One for Ed, and one for Lan Fan.”

“I give up,” Roy mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

Those on the jury accept their coffee with sleepy smiles. All except Olivier who scowls into the drink Heiderich prepared. She takes a sip, wrinkles her nose, and shoves it back into his hands.

“Black, please,” she says.

“Yes, sir,” Heiderich says stiffly, getting started on a new cup.

Roy meets Riza’s eyes. Though he’s technically dead to her, they haven’t lost the ability to silently communicate.

Roy: _I’m so tired._

Riza doesn’t respond. She holds his gaze as she takes a long, drawn-out sip.

“So,” says Jeff Probst. “This is the last tribal council where someone’s torch will be snuffed. Who would have thought that this would be our final three?”

“Honestly,” Olivier agrees, taking a drink of her now-black coffee.

“Greed,” says Jeff Probst with a laugh, “all the pressure must be on your shoulders right now. Whether you win or lose will be determined by who you pick tonight. Is that intimidating?”

Greed looks at Ed who holds his mug between his knees as he stirs its contents with the biscotti. He faces forward. “I’ve made my choice. I don’t go back on my word.”

“What he _means_ is,” Roy says, “He’s perfectly content shooting himself in the foot.” He looks at the jury. “After all, his odds _clearly_ lower significantly if he brings Fullmetal to the end.”

Ed chokes on his coffee, and then bursts out laughing. “This hut _reeks_ of desperation right about now.”

“Maybe I am desperate.” Roy grins, leaning back in his seat. “Two million cenz is a lot of money to lose after so many days.”

“That it is,” says Jeff Probst. “For any of you three. So, the way it’s looking is, Greed has quite the–”

A ding sounds, interrupting him mid-sentence. Jeff Probst looks to Heiderich in question. “Is that my cell phone? Did I get a new message?”

“It’s three AM,” Ed says again.

Heiderich pulls Jeff Probst’s iPhone out from his pocket and scrolls through. “Um…no, sir, it’s a Yahoo news update.”

“Oh.” Jeff Probst waves his hand. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“I’d rather not say.”

Jeff Probst laughs. “Heiderich, it’s alright. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Heiderich furrows his eyebrows with uncertainty, but nods nevertheless. “Okay…well.” He pockets the phone and mumbles, “It appears Ryan Seacrest has been chosen for olympic coverage.”

Jeff Probst spits coffee all over the podium. Heiderich jumps back in alarm.

“Jeff Probst!” he exclaims. “You promised you wouldn’t–”

“ _Ryan Seacrest_?” Jeff Probst exclaims. He leaps out from behind the podium, exposing the bunny slippers he’d been wearing. “Why is it always _him_?” He points to his own chest, the veins in his neck bulging out. “I’d be _perfect_ for that! I practically do calls already during the immunity challenges. How could the network do this to me?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Heiderich says. “Maybe you can apply for the winter oly–”

“He’s not even _that_ handsome!” Jeff Probst goes on. “I just don’t get the appeal.”

“I’m so glad this fanfic is coming to an end,” Olivier mutters. “So these unfunny Ryan Seacrest jokes can end with it.”

“Yeah, I’m with the General,” Ed says, impatiently tapping his biscotti against the edge of his mug. “Don’t we have an _elimination_ to get to, Jeff Probst?”

Jeff Probst shakes his head, now embittered. “Yeah, whatever. Greed, you know who you’re voting for?”

“That’s it?” Roy asks, annoyed. “We only get two hundred words of deliberation?”

“Roy, it’s obviously going to be you tonight,” says Jeff Probst. “Let’s not draw this out any longer than we need to.”

“Agreed,” says Riza, staring down at her cup.

Before Roy can get a word out, Greed says, “Yeah, Probst, I’m ready.”

“Ed, you automatically vote for Roy,” says Jeff Probst. “Roy, you automatically vote for Ed. Greed, you’re up.”

Greed gets up and makes it down the runway for the final time in this game. He uncaps the tribal council pen and prepares to write a name, but hesitates.

He thinks of Mustang’s words on the beach, and then just now. Judging by the way Armstrong and the Lieutenant couldn’t stop glaring at him, Greed knows he’s guaranteed their votes should he bring Mustang with him.

But then, the alternative is lying to Ed. He gave him the better gift, fulfilling his end of the bargain. And Greed is nothing if not honest and committed.

 _Think this through_ , says Ling in his head. _Lan Fan was sacrificed for this. Do not let her defeat be in vain, Greed_.

“I want everything,” Greed says. He curls his hand into a fist against the parchment. “If I bring the runt to the end…I could still have a shot. He’s pissed off his fair share of jury members too.

“But then…the Colonel.” Greed sighs. “I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. How do I know this isn’t all part of some elaborate plan to overthrow me?”

 _You don’t_ , says Ling. _And you don’t know whether or not you can actually beat him. Or Ed. Right now, you need to play with your gut. I’m counting on you._

Greed nods and does just that. He writes his vote down and drops it into the pot. When he returns, Jeff Probst says, “I’ll get the vote.”

He retrieves the pot and brings it back to his podium, now dripping with coffee. He takes off the lid. “Once the vote is read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the tribal council area immediately.” He nods. “I’ll read the vote.”

He pulls it out and opens it. Everyone on the jury inches forward. Havoc’s jaw falls open from the suspense. Riza and Olivier share a sidelong glance.

“Fourteenth person voted out of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ and the ninth and final member of our jury.” Jeff Probst exhales a long breath. He brokenly reveals the vote and chokes out, “Ed.”

The jury explodes with protest. Winry jumps to her feet and shouts, “Are you _kidding_?”

“Bullshit!” Rebecca yells at the same time as Havoc calls for a revote.

“I refuse to accept this,” Olivier growls.

“I second that!” Riza exclaims.

And while Greed watches all of this ensue, he realizes that he did, in fact, make the right decision.

Jeff Probst lifts his hand and says, “Be _quiet_!”

The jury does so, but still grumble under their breaths. This is an even bigger outrage than Fuhrer Bradley’s hidden immunity idol.

Ed jumps to his feet, the coffee mug shattering against the floor. Pale from disbelief, he points at Greed. “You _bastard_! I thought you said you didn’t lie!”

Greed laughs hysterically. “Ah, you fell for it, piss-ant! Hook, line, and sinker!” He stands up, rolling the AA battery between his two fingers. “That was the first and last lie I’ll ever tell.”

Riza looks over at Roy. He doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised. She narrows her eyes, shaking her head. How the hell did he manage to do this? How was he so sure that it would work?

They meet each other’s eyes for a silent conversation.

Riza: _Tell me. Right now._

Roy smiles at her. _Dumb luck._  

“Burn in hell,” Riza says out loud.

Roy chuckles. “Only if you’ll follow me, Lieutenant.”

Ed grabs his torch. He cannot believe this. How could Greed possibly vote off the _title character_? This fanfic wouldn’t even exist if not for him!

Jeff Probst looks utterly crestfallen to do this to him of all people, but he grabs his snuffer nevertheless.

“Ed,” Jeff Probst says, unable to look the boy in his large golden eyes. “The tribe has spoken.”

And then, after twenty seven long days, after losing his arm and undergoing the single most poignant character arc of the entire fic, Edward Elric’s torch is put out and he is reduced to nothing but a member of the jury.

Heiderich watches in horror as his brother exists the tribal council hut at last. Jeff Probst sighs, drags his hands down his face, and forces a smile. He turns to Greed and Roy.

“And then there were two,” he says, but the life in his voice is gone. “Greed and Colonel Mustang. Not Edward. He’s…gone.”

“Correct,” says Roy.

“This just goes to show you, there is no telling what could happen at tribal council,” he continues. “The Fullmetal Alchemist himself.”

“Right,” says Roy. “Fullmetal. Gone.”

“The next time we meet,” Jeff Probst says, “You two will plead your cases to the jury as to why you deserve to win Survivor over Ed–I mean, over each other.”

“Mr. Probst, we should wrap this up,” says Heiderich. “It’s late and we’re in the middle of the jungle. Who knows what could be lurking around here?” He lowers his voice. “What if there’s a cheetah?”

Roy stretches his arms over his head with a yawn. “Yeah, I don’t know about you guys, but I sure am ready to turn in.”

Jeff Probst turns away. “Okay, yeah, let’s go now.”

And so, for the last time post-elimination, everyone disperses.

* * *

**Post-Tribal Council Confessional: Edward Elric**

Ed isn’t certain whether he’s more furious or astonished by the events that just transpired. For several moments, he’s left totally speechless.

“Never thought I’d see _you_ in a post-tribal council confessional,” says Archer, holding yet another crappy camcorder.

“Damn right you didn’t!” Ed explodes. He decides that he’s livid. “After everything I did for that bastard and his stupid dolphin, _this_ is how I’m repaid?” He closes his hand into a fist. “Between him and the Colonel, I don’t even _know_ who I’d vote a winner. But the only thing that’s for certain is this.” He takes a step closer to the camera. “I don’t need help from _either of them_ come the Promised Day. I’ll save Amestris completely on my own.”

“Brat,” Archer mutters.

“What’d you call me?” Ed demands.

“Just leave,” Archer groans. “I want to go home.”

“I’ll leave,” Ed says, stomping away. He turns. “But because I _want_ to! Not because you told me to!”

“Whatever,” says Archer, closing his camcorder

* * *

Votes:  
Ed: Roy Mustang  
Roy: Edward Elric  
Greed: Edward Elric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND OUR FINAL TWO IS ROY AND GREED! Next chapter the jury will get to question these two and cast a vote for which they’d like to crown a winner. I really hope you guys have enjoyed thus far. Thank you so much for sticking with this fic, if you have. And I really hope you like what’s to come <3


	25. Finale (Part 1)

The last day on the island is just like any other in the sense that the remaining players are buzzing with anticipation for what’s to come. Apart from that, their campsite is barren in a way it had never been before. They’d never admit it, but they’d both counted on their tribe’s bustling to give the island a sense of home. Without General Armstrong’s snark, Edward’s whining, Havoc’s flirting, or even the tension brought on by the Fuhrer’s presence, everything feels too quiet.  

Greed and the Colonel have played this game alongside each other, though their paths never quite intersected. They are undoubtedly an odd pair for the final two, but neither one of them can honestly say they are surprised by the outcome.

Still, the two were never actually friends. Hell, they’d never even been allies. Apart from Greed contributing the the Lieutenant’s blindside, he and Mustang hadn’t ever so much as strategized together.

And here they are now.

That morning, Roy Mustang wakes up to silence. Hawkeye and Havoc no longer sleep beside him. Neither are Edward and Winry a short distance away. It’s just the homunculus, elsewhere beneath the shade of his special tree, and himself.

Roy groggily sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. This is the last morning he will ever have to wake up after a cold night on the ground. The last time he’ll ever have to shake sand out of his hair and clothes. The last time it’ll be too humid for him to light a proper fire.

 _Oh my god_ , Roy thinks, his hands slowly falling from his face. _I’ll be able to use alchemy again_.

He yearns for his ignition gloves. Hawkeye has a briefcase full in their office in Central. A shiver courses through him.

Hawkeye.

Suddenly, last night returns to him like a punch in the face. The loathsome way she looked at him after Greed played right into his hands. And then, the moment they exchanged actual words.

 _Burn in Hell,_ she said.

 _Only if you’ll follow me_ , he said back.

Humiliated, Roy groans. He slides both hands through his hair. “‘Only if you’ll follow me’?” He squeezes his eyes shut, every inch of his skin crawling from shame. “ _God_! What was I thinking? Why did I say that?”

How could he have let his pompousness take over in such a destructive way? He wants her _forgiveness_ , not resentment! He’d been so fired up, so drunk off his own power, he’d spoken straight out of his ass.

Roy lets out a long breath. So that happened. He isn’t any closer to gaining Lieutenant Hawkeye’s vote as he is anyone else’s. But that’s okay. He has the rest of today to strategize. All he needs are five votes. It won’t be easy, but he has confidence in his way with words.

“Five votes,” Roy murmurs to himself, thoughtfully drumming his fingers against his knees. “I can count Olivier Armstrong and Lan Fan out. Probably Winry too. I could get the Major. Definitely Fullmetal. Hawkeye or Havoc if I really play my cards right. There isn’t any way in hell the Fuhrer is voting for Greed, and then…” He takes a deep breath, “Catalina… _fuck_ , what was her first name?”

He thinks back to all the times he’d spoken to Grumman about his subordinates, but they’d never referred to anyone by anything but their rank or surname.

God damn this author for not only writing such a minor character into the fic, but putting her on the jury as well!

 _Think, Roy, think. She’s friends with the Lieutenant._ Good _friends with her, in fact_. He searches his memory for any time Hawkeye had referred to her by name, on or off the island.

“Rrrr,” Roy draws out. And then the lightbulb in his head flickers to life. He jolts up, snapping his fingers repeatedly. “Rebecca! Rebecca Catalina!”

Roy cannot forget this. If he can show her that he actually finds her relevant, it may give him an upper hand over Greed.

But the name is already beginning to fade away. Roy repeats it out loud, over and over again, like doing so is grabbing the fleeting memory by its tail and anchoring it to his mind.

“Rebecca,” he says as he gets up off the ground, brushing sand off his clothes. “Re-bec-ca.”

He keeps saying the name as he goes about his morning. He says it while he spiles water from a tree. He turns it into a song as he’s pouring the fresh water over his head for a makeshift shower. By midmorning, he finds himself down on his knees, repeatedly writing her name into the sand with his finger.

“Rebecca,” he says, the name no longer sounding like an actual word but a nonsensical combination of vowels and consonants. “Rebecca. Rebecca. Rebecca. Rebecca.”

On the other end of camp, Greed is just waking up. He has yet to fully process the feat of making it to the final two, if only because he doesn’t see it as a feat at all. It’s just another day at camp, where the two million cenz are as rightfully his as they were on day one.

When he pushes himself up, he notices that beside him there is a basket filled with pastries, bagels, cookies, cold cuts, smoked salmon, a fancy glass bottle of orange juice, and a note. Greed picks it up.

“Congratulations on making the final two,” he reads in a sleepy mumble. “Here is a complimentary breakfast courtesy of CBS. Greed, you were the first one I could find and I wasn’t about to spend anymore time than necessary in this humidity, as it’s bad for my hair, so I left the basket with you. You’re to find Roy and share this with him. Love, Jeff Probst.”

Greed tosses the note over his shoulder. “Pssssh. _Share_. Yeah, right.” He pulls the basket onto his lap. “This feast is mine.”

Even so, he pulls the smoked salmon aside. Salmon is Carlos’s favorite.

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“Tribal council is tonight,” Greed says, licking cream cheese off his sharpened shield fingers. “After that, we’re getting the hell of this god forsaken island.” He shoves his last cookie into his mouth. Between chews, he mumbles, “I personally can’t wait. This place is made up of nothing but cheap betrayal. There isn’t a thing I’m gonna miss….” He stops himself as the harsh reality dawns on him. A chewed up cluster of cookie falls out of his gaping mouth.

* * *

Greed sprints across the island. He doesn’t even notice Roy or his writing on the sand. In fact, he steps directly atop it, rendering it illegible.

“Hey!” Roy yells, hastily re-writing the name. “Where are you…” He trails off, then sniffs. “Wait a minute, was that smoked salmon?”

Greed falls to his knees atop his rock and yells, “Carlos!”

The dolphin is in his usual spot, now playing with the toy Ed transmuted the night before. He looks up at Greed curiously.

“Buddy.” Greed sighs, pulling several slabs of smoked salmon from out of his pocket. He tosses one into the air. Carlos catches it in his mouth.

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“Amestris is landlocked,” Greed says vacantly. His violet eyes shine. “C-Carlos won’t be able to come. If this is my last day on the island, it means that after tonight, I’ll never see him again.”

* * *

After Greed has fed Carlos all of the salmon from this morning’s feast, he slides into the water and swims over to him. He pets his fin with a sigh.

“This is it, Carlos,” says Greed, closing his eyes. “After tonight, I’ll have won Survivor and I’ll have to leave.”

Carlos makes a whimpering noise. It breaks Greed’s heart.

“I know,” Greed says. “You know, a bratty prince once told me that if I turned my back on something I wanted, that I didn’t deserve to call myself Greed.” He chuckles. “That’s why I can never turn my back on you, buddy. Friends are a part of your soul. And because of that, this isn’t the end.”

Carlos nudges the bottom of Greed’s chin with his snout.

“First Survivor,” Greed tells him, “and then I’ll be ruler of the world. When that happens, I’ll come back for you. We can rule together.”

 _Um, Greed_ , Ling says bitterly, _I thought_ we _were going to rule together_.

“Shut up, pisshead!” Greed hisses. When Carlos tenses, Greed hugs the dolphin. “Not you, Carlos, never you.”

 _For fuck’s sake_ , Ling sighs.

* * *

At some point in the afternoon, Roy finds himself by Greed’s tree. He sees an overturned basket and folded piece of paper lying atop a pile of sand and…crumbs?

Roy bends down the pick up the note, he reads it with furrowed eyebrows.

“Breakfast?” he questions just as his stomach growls. He makes the connection between the empty basket, crumbs, and Greed smelling of food when he’d run past him earlier this morning.

Roy crumples the note in his fist. “That son of a bitch!”

He marches over to where he and Carlos are still, after several hours, playing in the water. The two are in the middle of a game of catch with Fullmetal’s toy when Roy exclaims, “You didn’t even think to save any food for me?”

Greed grimaces, waving his hand. “Can you keep it down? Carlos doesn’t like when people shout.”

“The hell with what Carlos doesn’t like!” Roy throws the crumpled note at Greed’s head. It bounces off and falls atop the water’s surface. “This is our last day on the island! The least you could do is not be a selfish prick for five minutes of your life!”

Greed doesn’t grab the toy when Carlos pushes it back at him. He glares at Roy. “You’re welcome for bringing you to the final two, by the way. And for the record, it isn’t selfish. Finders keepers, asshole.”

Roy barks a laugh. “What is this? Grade school?”

“You’re one to talk about being selfish,” Greed goes on. “All this time, you’ve done nothing but drag your allies through the mud just to get ahead.” He turns away, cracking a dark smile. “Good luck getting a single vote from the jury tonight.”

* * *

**Confessional: Roy Mustang**

“Maybe it’s a good thing that Greed thinks I’m a fool.” Roy smirks. “Let him keep thinking that bringing me to the final two was his idea rather than something I carefully manipulated.”

Of course he knew Greed would promise Fullmetal a position in the final two if he made a gift with just enough effort to seem sincere, but not enough to truly satisfy him. Just the same, he knew exactly what to say and when to say it so Greed would change his mind and effectively blindside the kid.

“I won’t say I have this vote in the bag,” Roy says. “But I’m not going down without a fight, that’s for sure.”

* * *

Roy sits at the shore, watching the sun set over the water for the very last time. A part of him thinks he’s going to miss the island’s small beauties. But a far more rational part wants to put as much distance between himself and this horrible place as possible.

He absently massages his own hand, the one Olivier Armstrong broke way before the merge. His making it here doesn’t particularly surprise him, but he won’t dismiss all that he’s surmounted.

Greed joins him later, his fingers and toes shriveled like raisins. Roy makes a face and asks, “Couldn’t you have avoided pruning by activating your shield thing, or whatever?”

Greed sighs. “Nah. The ultimate shield scares Carlos.”

Roy doesn’t say anything to that. Greed’s odd relationship with that dolphin will never make an ounce of sense to him.

“You know,” Greed says, “A lot has changed since Episode One.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Roy says. “The lack of continuity in this fic is astounding–”

“And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, by the way,” Greed continues. “You suck. But I’d be lying if I said you were the person I hated most in this game.” Greed grits his teeth, shooting a glare at the empty terrain where the palace once stood. “There are worse things than lying and cheating.”

“I really am sorry about the palace,” Roy says. Not because he cares that it meant a lot to Greed, but because he was hoping once he got in, the rest of them would be able to use the shower. And an actual toilet.

“At the end of the day, I’m losing a lot more than a palace,” Greed says. He hugs his knees to his chest. “Maybe I should just stay on the island forever. Yeah, I’m going to rule the world someday, but it may be a long time before…” He shakes his head, mumbling. “You wouldn’t understand. Given that you’re a sociopath and all.”

Roy isn’t sure what prompts him to say what he does next. Perhaps it’s, in part, humiliation that of every player left in the game, he was pitted against someone willing to give two million cenz up over a dolphin, of all things.

Roy refuses to accept that. He can’t win Survivor _by default_. He’ll be a laughing stock at Central Command. He needs Greed in top shape for tonight. If he’s going to win, he’s going to do it the only way Roy Mustang can. Like a badass.

“Give up?” Roy gives Greed a hard look. “A competitor in this game must be willing to act. Able to go to tribal council when it’s required of them, without question. We choose our own path, knowing full well what we’re doing. That’s the way it is.”

Greed lifts his disillusioned face, watching Roy with curiosity.

“You’ll more than likely come across cases like this again in the future,” Roy continues. “Are you gonna shut down like this every time?”

Greed sits up, his legs stretching out in front of him. He stares toward the sea, toward Carlos’s home. It’s then that he decides the Colonel is right. He can’t turn his back on something he’s wanted since Episode 1. He came here to win, and win he will

* * *

Greed tightens his side ponytail, shrugs on his tattered black coat, and pulls his boots on his feet. To complete the look, he adjusts the buff around his neck and brushes the last remnants of sand off his shirtfront.

Carlos is already waiting when he arrives. The dolphin takes in his attire and sinks into the water. Greed isn’t dressed for a swim. They aren’t going to play tonight.

“I came into this game to win,” Greed says. “I can’t lose sight of that.”

Carlos is receptive. The following silence would be deafening if not for the waves that lick up against the rocks.

“At the beginning I was completely alone.” Greed doesn’t look at Carlos while he speaks. “And that was fine. See, Carlos, I’m what they call a homunculus – an artificially created human. Guys like me, we don’t do the whole ‘friend’ thing. But I was never satisfied.” Greed clutches at his stomach. “I felt a hollowness in the center of my gut for a long time. Like when salmon is out of season. You know what that’s like, buddy.” Greed sighs. “I don’t really know where I’m going with this, except to say that in all the time we spent together, I’d forgotten why I was here. None of it mattered. I couldn’t rationalize how money, status, or glory could ever amount to, well, this. And you.”

Carlos lets out a quiet squeak. And that’s when he hears Mustang on the other side of the beach, calling for him so they can head out. A knot forms in Greed’s throat.

No, he isn’t ready. He needs more time. He still hasn’t articulated all that he feels.

“You were enough, Carlos,” Greed chokes out. “My insatiable desires ceased to exist while we were together.”

He finally looks at the dolphin who stares vacantly at him. Despite himself, Greed chuckles.

“I can do without that pitiful look,” he tells him, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He takes a deep breath. “This isn’t goodbye. It will never be goodbye. Friends…” He clutches his heart, croaking, “Friends are a part of your soul.”

Carlos nudges his toy toward Greed, then nods at him to take it. But Greed shakes his head.

“Keep it,” he says. “To remember me by. So that when I’m ruler of the world and finally come back for you, we can play with it again.”

Assuming he doesn’t die heroically in canon before that can be accomplished, of course.

Greed turns around, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. He forces a laugh and says, “Ah, you piss-ant. It’s been fun.” He glances over his shoulder, flashing him a smile, “The next time we see each other, I’ll be _King_ Greed–”

 _Emperor_ , Ling corrects.

“And sole survivor.” Greed turns around, because he knows the moment he sees Carlos’s face, he may not be strong enough to walk away.

* * *

**Confessional: Greed**

“I’m going to win this lame ass competition because the title is rightfully mine,” Greed says. “I won’t let anything get in the way of that.”

* * *

Roy and Greed walk to tribal council in silence occasionally broken by Greed’s sniffing. After a few minutes pass, Roy looks at him, then stops in his tracks.

“Are you _crying_?” he asks.

“Fuck off,” Greed murmurs, rubbing his eye.

Roy rolls his eyes and keeps moving. Whatever. After tonight, Greed is no longer his problem. If all works out, he might not even have to deal with him in canon after this is over.

They continue through the woods for maybe a quarter mile before stumbling upon a collection of random objects lying on the ground. Among them being lit candles, paperback novels, and a thick roll of pages stuffed into a glass bottle.

“The hell is this?” Roy asks, tipping the bottle over with his foot.

“Who cares, let’s just go,” Greed groans.

And so they do, because this chapter is about to hit three thousand words and absolutely nothing noteworthy has actually been accomplished yet.

* * *

##  **// TRIBAL COUNCIL //**

And so the final two enter the tribal council hut. Two seats have been placed toward the center of the floor, brightly illuminated by the fire behind them. Jeff Probst doesn’t have his podium tonight; instead, he is seated on a leather arm chair with his feet propped up on a matching ottoman. Heiderich is to his left with his hands clasped behind his back.

Roy and Greed take their seats. Instantly, they begin to sweat. Who thought putting them this close to the fire was a good idea? Sure it must look fantastic aesthetically, but it’s totally impractical.

“Welcome,” says Jeff Probst, “to your final tribal council. How are you two feeling?”

“Ready to win,” says Roy, blotting his damp hairline with the buff around his head.

“Hungry,” Greed adds, to which Roy shoots him an unhappy look. Didn’t he eat a two-person feast just this morning?

“I’d assume you guys had quite the morning,” Jeff Probst says. “Starting with the feast, ending with you symbolically burning your campsite.”

The two castaways look at each other. Roy says, “Uh, we didn’t burn anything.”

Jeff Probst swings his legs off the ottoman, planting his feet on the ground. “What!?” He glances incredulously at Heiderich, and then settles his scorching eyes on Roy and Greed. “That’s _tradition_!”

“How were we supposed to know that?” Greed asks. “We don’t watch this garbage show.”

“We’re not even from this world,” Roy adds, waving his hand at Jeff Probst, a live-action human being while he and the rest of the characters appear 2D. “In fact, we don’t even know why we were brought here in the first place.”

Jeff Probst heard none of that. He closes his eyes, unable to wrap his head around the prospect of this. “I’m sorry, you’ve _never_ seen Survivor?”

“No,” Roy and Greed say together.

“Don’t you remember all the questions we had on Episode 1?” Roy asks. “Plus, none of us had any idea who you were.”

“Yeah, but that was _Episode 1_!” Jeff Probst exclaims. “This fanfic is a disaster. Look how much its canon has changed since then. People actually knew Yolanda’s name in Episode 1!”

“Rebecca,” Roy corrects, pleased with himself for remembering.

“Who?” Greed asks, digging his knuckle into his temple. “Augh, you know what? I don’t care. Can we just get started?”

“So, you _don’t_ know who Boston Rob is?” Jeff Probst goes on. “Or Rupert? Parvati?”

“Mr. Probst, I don’t think they know what you’re talking about,” Heiderich says softly. He places his hands on Jeff Probst’s shoulders from behind, guiding him back into his seat. He pushes him down. “Remember, we have a time slot we can’t go over. We really should get started.”

Heiderich just wants to be over this. Once this fanfic ends, he’ll be free and will never have to floss Jeff Probst’s teeth ever again. He can go back to Germany and engineer planes. Nothing bad will ever happen to him there.

And of course, he can take Edward with him.

“Fine,” Jeff Probst sighs. He lifts his hand apathetically. “I’ll now bring in the members of our jury.”

They enter the tribal council hut for the final time, in order of their elimination. Jeff Probst names them as they take their seats.

“Winry Rockbell,” he says, “Alex Armstrong…” Jeff Probst stops himself because the next person to walk in is _not_ Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber but…

“F-Fuhrer King Bradley,” Jeff Probst stammers.

The Fuhrer calmly makes his way across the floor in full uniform, his coat glittering with the medals he’s earned over the years. He takes his seat next to the Major, who has risen to his feet with a salute. Bradley’s one exposed eye narrows in on Greed.

The homunculus nearly falls out of his seat. Roy grips his arm to keep him steady. Greed’s heart hammers against his chest, his vision going red. It’s all he can do not to lunge at him and tear his mustache straight off his hideous face.

“Wrath,” Greed growls.

 _Calm down_ , says Ling. _You’re going to give us a heart attack._

“Well, isn’t this something,” says Jeff Probst. He’s gone completely pale. He’d forgotten how terrified he was of the man. “Fuhrer Bradley, where’s your transcriber?”

The Fuhrer tilts his head back, closing his eye. “After Michael read me the transcriptions, I decided to give one of you the illustrious honor of being voted a winner by the Fuhrer of Amestris.”

“Michael?” Roy mumbles. “The transcriber has a name?”

“Mike for short,” says Bradley, thoughtfully stroking his mustache.

Greed bites his tongue and tastes blood. Ling winces internally.

“O-okay, then,” says Jeff Probst. He clears his throat. “Um, anyway.” He awkwardly looks to the jury bench as Armstrong sits down and the remaining members begin to enter. “Rachael Cavalina, Jean Havoc, Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong, Riza Hawkeye, Lan Fan who doesn’t have a last name, and Edward Elric voted out in the last tribal council.”

Since it’s only been one day, Ed’s automail has yet to be replaced, but he does look sharp all things considered. And by sharp, I mean as sharp as Edward Elric is capable of looking in a black and silver shirt that looks like it was found in the discount bin of a halloween store, black pants, clunky boots, and a red coat he’d transmuted five minutes before coming here.

But his hair antenna stands as enthusiastically as ever.

“Why is your sense of style so tacky?” Greed asks him, disgusted. Ed goes tense, raising his fist, preparing to retaliate.

“Looking good, Fullmetal!” says Roy with a thumbs-up, and Ed reluctantly relaxes. If Greed is going to start digging his own grave now, Roy can’t waste any time.

“So, why don’t we get started?” Jeff Probst asks. He settles back into his seat. “Tonight, the jury will get a chance to ask Roy and Greed any questions they may have. After everyone is finished, the final two will be allowed to make closing statements, and then it is up to the jury to cast their two million cen vote for the winner of Survivor. Any questions?”

“Just one,” Roy asks, ignoring the plethora of glares he’s currently on the receiving end of. He frowns at Jeff Probst. “What the hell was that pile of junk in the forest. I saw your name on one of the books.”

“You found my shrine?” Jeff Probst asks with a delighted smile.

“Your shrine?” Greed asks, reaching into his pocket and fiddling with one of the candles he’d, at some point, stolen from it. “For what?”

“It’s a ritual I perform at the end of every season of Survivor,” he says. “A way for me to give thanks to the island. With the gift of my work. All of my novels, the screenplay I just finished, etcetera.”

The hut falls silent. Nobody knows how to respond to that.

“Who wants to bet Jeff Probst’s screenplay is better than the _Sacred Star of Milos_?” Winry mutters.

“Two hundred cenz,” Ed says.

“None,” says Rebecca.

“What about _Conqueror of Shamballa_?” Heiderich asks, extending his arms. His eyebrows bounce. “Ah? Ah?”

“Heiderich, enough,” Jeff Probst sighs.

The boy looks down. “Yes, sir.”

“This has gotten far too derailed,” Olivier says, flipping her hair back. “As per usual.”

Jeff Probst realizes that she has a point. Plus, he doesn’t want to be within a hundred miles of _her_ bad side. He straightens up and says, “Roy, would you like to make an opening statement? Why should the jury vote _you_ the winner of _Survivor: Not Amestris_.”

Roy wipes his sweaty palms against his lap. Not because he’s nervous. Because it’s freaking hot by this fire.

“No problem,” he says. Roy stands up and faces the jury. Immediately, he’s met with scoffs of contempt. But he takes them with a smile. He won’t lose his cool. He’ll win them over.

“I’m not about to get on my hands and knees to grovel,” Roy says. “That’s never been my game. And too many of you know me well enough to know it wouldn’t be sincere. I’m not going to pretend to have played this game honorably, because I haven’t. Everything I did was to make it to the next tribal council. It was never personal. I respect each and every one of you and hope that you’ll respect the decisions I made as well. And if I’m going to tell one truth on this island, it’s that it has been a pleasure to play with you all.” He makes eye contact with every single person he’s personally hurt or betrayed. First Winry, Havoc, Fullmetal, Lan Fan, and finally he steadies his eyes on Hawkeye’s. “This life isn’t about anything but protecting the people we love, and then they’ll protect the ones they love. Me winning Survivor is a step in that direction. I promise you all that I will be a winner worth following. And–”

“It’s an opening statement, not a presidential speech,” Jeff Probst says.

Riza looks down, her lip quirking up. It’s a sneer, of course, but Roy is willing to take whatever crumbs she throws at him.

“Thank you,” says Roy, bowing his head. He sits down.

Greed doesn’t wait for Jeff Probst to introduce him. He doesn’t even stand up. He lounges back in his seat, crossing an ankle over his knee.

“I don’t see the point in this,” he says. “I’ve already won. I mean, everything on the island has been mine from the beginning, including the votes of everyone here. This is a waste of time.”

Jeff Probst blinks. The hut lapses into yet another tense silence. The jury all look among themselves, trying to figure out whether or not he was actually serious.

“Is…that it?” Jeff Probst asks Greed.

The homunculus shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Then, let’s get started,” says Jeff Probst. “Though it would probably make sense to call you guys up in order elimination, this has always been a pretty arbitrary process. So…” He starts to count the individuals in the jury as he whispers, “Eenie, meenie, miney, moe, catch an idol by the toe. If you’re eliminated, let the votes go. Eenie, meenie, miney…” His finger lands on Rebecca. “You go first.”

Rebecca is wearing a lovely red sundress, her thick hair falling in ringlety waves over her shoulders. She stands and stalks over to the center of the tribal council hut, standing in front of the final two with her hands on her hips.

“I don’t like either of you,” she says plainly. “But I hate Greed way less.” She stomps closer to Roy. He doesn’t break eye contact, even when she leans in uncomfortably close.

“Mustang,” she says, “you are the biggest asshole I have ever had the displeasure of sharing a canon with, let alone an island. You’re selfish, manipulative, underhanded, have an unreasonably round face, and weren’t even loyal to the one person who literally joined the military to protect your worthless ass. Tell me right now why, after any of this, I should vote for you tonight.”

Roy gives her his token Mustbang™ smile. “Second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina, your headstrong fire made playing this game so entertaining.”

Rebecca pulls back, staring unblinkingly at him. Did he just…remember her name?

“You’re right,” he says with a shrug. “I played an underhanded game. I’ve been selfish. I betrayed the Lieutenant. I shouldn’t be forgiven for any of it. I don’t wish to be absolved. I only want you to vote for me because I’m here for the people, Rebecca.”

She is too stunned to say another word. She slowly turns her head toward Greed, stuttering, “A-alright.” She swallows. “Um, homunculus?”

Greed blinks out of a trance. “Whoa.” He peers at her. “Wait, who are you? Have you been here this whole time?”

She whirls around, clenching her fists in frustration, and stomps back to her seat. Greed looks after her, puzzled. Roy does everything in his power not to laugh out loud.

One vote locked.

“Thank you, Farah,” says Jeff Probst.

“Her name is Rebecca,” Roy corrects with a smile.

“Whatever.” He looks at the jury. “Um, Winry, wanna go next?”

She stands up, looking very pretty in a pink floral skirt and white blouse. As the first member of the jury, it’s been a really long time since either Roy or Greed have been able to address her directly.

“Colonel,” says Winry. “After the way you blindsided me, you have to know there’s no way you’re getting my vote. I just want to know why you did it. And, Greed.” Her eyes flicker to him. “From our time together on Yellow until the night of my elimination, you never seemed interested in forming alliances. So what made you take Lan Fan’s side when push came to shove at tribal council?”

Roy passes the floor to Greed in order to have an extra second to mull over what he’s going to say.

“I’m no liar,” Greed tells her. “I never promised my vote to anyone at the time. It was the prince kid who convinced me to save Lan Fan instead of you. It’s no more complicated than that.”

Winry’s shoulders settle back as she absorbs this. Her expectant eyes shift to Roy.

“Lan Fan offered me a deal that I couldn’t refuse,” Roy says carefully. “And at the time, it was the most strategic move to make. I knew I couldn’t risk keeping you, Winry. Not only was your alliance with Fullmetal dangerous so long as Greed and Armstrong were swing votes, but you’re too likable.” He smiles, laying out his hand in gesture. “Come on, the beautiful, smart, and charismatic mechanic who gave the protagonist the literal and figurative leg he stands on? I could never beat you in a jury vote.”

A blush tinges Winry’s cheeks. Roy smiles. He may fake being a playboy, but charming people has always come naturally to him.

“I have trouble believing that,” Winry says, looking away. “If anything, Lan Fan was a bigger threat than me from the beginning. She nearly won immunity even after losing her automail during the challenge.”

“Survivor is more than a physical game,” Roy says. “That’s why Greed and I are sitting here instead of Lan Fan and the Fuhrer.”

Winry contemplates this. She looks at Greed, perhaps waiting for him to speak up. When he doesn’t, she nods and says, “Thank you,” and then goes to sit down.

“Alright,” Jeff Probst says, yawning. He pulls a remote control from between the chair’s arm and cushion and presses a large red button. The chair starts to hum and Jeff Probst melts back with a moan. “I love that massage feature.” He lazily points at the jury. “General, you’re up.”

When Olivier stands up, everyone in the hut holds their breath. She wears a sleek black suit with a crisp white blouse underneath, her long blond hair as lush and fabulous as ever. Her heels click against the wooden floor as she walks. When she stops in front of the two, she shakes her head with a harsh laugh.

“I don’t care if the homunculus goes rogue and murders every single member of the jury in cold blood,” Olivier says icily. “I would rip out my own tongue and force feed it to Jeff Probst before I ever voted Roy Mustang the winner of anything.”

Jeff Probst blanches, tenderly patting his throat.

Roy can’t help the way his mouth curls into a sinister grin. Oh, he may have to play nice for the rest of the jury. But Olivier Armstrong has always been immune to his charm. And so, he will relish every moment of this.

“I don’t care what either of you have to say,” she goes on, disregarding Greed completely as she gives Roy such a withering glare, even the fire behind him shrinks back in fear. “I don’t want to hear a word. Mustang, you’re a filthy, condescending, reprehensible excuse for a man. And if the collective intelligence of this entire jury is greater than that of a papaya, you will leave this game with nothing to your name but the scars and bug bites you sustained here that only serve to make you all the more hideous.”

“Olivier,” Roy says, batting his eyelashes. “Though I’m certain watching me survive week after week from your spot on the jury bench has been difficult, I want you to know that there aren’t any hard feelings.” He leans back in his seat, chuckling. “And you’re as beautiful as ever in this firelight.”

Everything falls to silence apart from the crackling flames and the noise coming from Jeff Probst’s massage chair. Olivier’s eyes narrow to icy blue slits.

Greed points to her with one finger and Mustang with the other. He whistles softly and asks Olivier, “So…you’re definitely voting for me, right?”

The General turns on her heel, her hair whipping out behind her. She plants herself back on the jury bench, crossing her leg over her knee. Her shoulders tremble from rage.

Jeff Probst opens his mouth to call upon the next person, but his mouth is dry from fear. He turns off the massage chair, eliminating its noise from the already-quiet atmosphere.

“H-how about Edward?” Heiderich prompts, still reeling, himself.

Wordlessly, Jeff Probst nods. He points at Edward and chokes out, “Go.”

Ed awkwardly joins Mustang and Greed in the center of the hut. How the hell is he supposed to say anything after that? Even _his_ heart was racing, and he wasn’t even the recipient of her wrath.

This unsettlement disappears the moment he lays eyes on Greed, though. He waves Mustang away with his one hand, and says, “Colonel, I know you’re a bastard and I know exactly what you’ll try to say to save your own skin so don’t even bother.” He sets his hand on his hip, tilting his head down as he stares at Greed. “So tell me, Greed. You said you never lied. What made you betray me?”

Greed shoots Ed a judging look. “Look, brat, I had my reasons for wanting your ass off the island. And you have a hell of a lot of nerve coming to me with that crap, given everything I know about your time in the game.”

Ed’s cheeks turn the color of his coat. “Why, you–”

“I told you,” Greed says. “It was the only lie I ever told. Carlos and I appreciate the gift. Hell, I’m sure he’s playing with it as we speak…” Greed stops. He remembers the delight dancing in Carlos’s eyes when he first presented the toy to him. It’s the happiest he’s ever been. It’s…

“Uh.” Ed waves his hand in front of Greed’s blank eyes. He snaps his fingers. “Greed?”

Roy glances at his competitor, then exclaims, “Wait a minute, are you _crying_ again?”

Greed quickly turns away, digging his knuckles into his eyes. God, not now. He wasn’t supposed to fall apart during tribal. Carlos wouldn’t have wanted this.

“Go away, piss-ant,” Greed mutters, swallowing the knot stinging his throat.

Roy looks at him and takes the opportunity to capture Ed’s attention. He says, “Remember how I’ve always taken care of you.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “When I was eleven, you recruited me into a military so corrupt that your entire character arc was founded on changing it.”

“I saw your potential,” Roy says.

“ _Eleven_.”

“Fullmetal, I will _never_ put you in harm’s way,” Roy says, putting a hand to his heart. “I keep you under my command so I can be a mentor to you.”

Ed walks back to his seat, muttering, “Yeah, whatever.”

Jeff Probst looks at the jury, trying to remember who has actually gone up. God, this is so boring. He hasn’t paid attention to a single person.

“Uh…” He scans the jury. “Major Armstrong, the author gives you so little focus I forget you’re even a character half the time. Surely you haven’t gone up yet, right?”

“Correct!” he exclaims, jumping to his feet.

Jeff Probst sighs, already rubbing his temples. He never liked the major. He’s so _loud_ all the time. Plus, he commandeers attention everywhere he goes. Jeff Probst loathes being overshadowed. He signals for Heiderich to get him a glass of water and an advil.

Alex Louis Armstrong, fabulous and well-dressed, pops the top three buttons of his dress shirt open as he stands before the final two. He nods at them, his eyes instantly flooding with tears.

“I’d like to congratulate you two on making it to the finals,” he says, though no one can see his mouth moving behind his thick blond mustache. “You’ve both played a most honorable game!”

“No, they haven’t,” Lan Fan mutters from where she sits. “Have you been paying any attention at all?”

“Please keep your shirt on. Please keep your shirt on. Please keep your shirt on.” Roy murmurs to himself.

“The question I have,” he asks, “is for the homunculus.” He dabs his wet eyes. “Why did you feel it necessary to vote for me?”

Greed snorts. “I hate to tell you this, pal, but it was one hundred percent personal.” He stops his foot and points at him. “You stole from me. I respected every asshole on the island. It would only make sense for me to expect decency in return. But _you_ ,” he says with a growl. He laughs wickedly. “I hope those coconuts were worth it. I hope they were worth two million cenz!”

The major looks at Roy, scratching his head in confusion. “Coconuts?”

Greed tenses. “You…you don’t remember?”

“Major,” says Roy. “As a commanding officer, I am giving you the opportunity to cast your vote however you like. But, please, consider the fact that I never wrote your name down. I might have even taken you to the end.”

The Major’s response is to scoop Roy into a hug. Roy tries to scream, but his lungs have been crushed. He gasps in the Major’s unrelenting arms, kicking around in the air.

“Thank you, Colonel, I will take these words to heart!” the Major exclaims. Sparkles rain over the both of them.

“Okay!” Roy wheezes. “I…Maj…”

Armstrong releases him. He slumps to the ground, sparkles still stuck in his hair and on his clothes. Roy clambers to his feet, using the seat of his chair for support, and pulls himself up onto it. He bends over, panting.

“Thank you, Jeff Probst,” says Armstrong.

Greed is still thoroughly offended. He looks at Roy and asks, “Can you believe him? He doesn’t even remember!”

“I think he broke a rib,” Roy says quietly. He presses a hand to the afflicted area, then hisses in pain. “Yep. Definitely a rib.”

Jeff Probst nods at the jury. “Lan Fan?”

She gets up, making sure to flaunt her gorgeous new automail in Ed’s face as she passes him. Ed absently touches the frayed wires sticking out from his broken automail and sighs.

Lan Fan is dressed simply, in sleek pants and a deep red blouse. Her hair is half picked up at the back of her head in an elegant knot.

“I have nothing to say to the remaining players,” Lan Fan says to Greed and Roy. “I fight for Xing and Xing alone. And whatever the homunculus did in this game is irrelevant. I vowed to get the young lord his trampoline and I will still do everything in my power to do so.” She shrugs at Mustang. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but you will not get my vote.” She looks at the jury. “However, this is a message to all of you. I need for you to think carefully about where you are placing your loyalties tonight. Do not allow a man’s flowery words to dissuade you from making the right decision. The way he played this game parallels how he’d behave when trying to attain anything beyond it. It’s in his nature. This wasn’t the first time Colonel Mustang has used cunning to achieve his goals and it certainly won’t be the last.”

If she had a mic, she would have dropped it. When she returns to her seat, Winry softly applauds.

“Havoc?” Jeff Probst says. Reluctantly, he turns the massage chair back on. Euphoria fills his soul.

Havoc, wearing jeans, a button down shirt, and a chic blazer, steps onto the center of the hut. A cigarette dangles from between his lips.

“Lan Fan has a point,” Havoc says, crossing his arms. “Colonel, I trusted you and you betrayed Reggie and me–”

“Rebecca, Havoc,” Roy says.

“I swore my life to you when I joined the military,” Havoc says. “I accepted my position under your command, fully prepared to die for you. It just goes to show you that loyalty doesn’t mean a damn thing. I knew it when you betrayed Winry. I knew it when you betrayed _me_.” Havoc chuckles with disbelief. “Boss, you screwed _Hawkeye_ over. That was when I realized you were beyond forgiveness. I’m voting for the homunculus tonight, not because I think he deserves to win, but because I couldn’t bear to see you come out of this with two million cenz.”

Roy bows his head. He takes a deep breath. “Havoc, you’re my knight. And I trust you implicitly. I chose you for my command because I know what you’re capable of.” He looks up, and he sees that Havoc’s eyes are as stony as ever. “I didn’t expect your vote tonight. But I hope you can accept this as truth.”

Havoc shakes his head. “You think I’m going to forgive you for the mess you made of this game?”

“No,” Roy says. “Your anger is justified.”

“I agree,” says Greed. He smiles at Havoc. “You know, I’d _never_ betray you.”

“You voted for him too,” Roy mutters.

“Oh, come on, this is _such_ crap!” Greed groans. “Look, everyone here hates the Colonel! And I’m the rightful winner anyway, given that this whole network belongs to me.” He looks at Havoc. “You were a smitten pain in the ass. That chick sitting next to you, god, who even _is_ she? Major Armstrong is a dirty thief, and the alchemist kid cheated his way to the top three. I resent pretty much all of you, but I still fully expect your votes because, at the end of the day, I’m still not _him_.” He shoves the Colonel’s shoulder.

Havoc takes a step back, raising his eyebrow. “Did you just call me a pain in the ass? You spent the whole game whining over a palace.”

“Oh, we’ll _get to that_ ,” Greed says through gritted teeth, shooting a glare at Bradley.

“Havoc, anything else?” Jeff Probst asks.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Havoc replies.

“Good. Sit down.” Jeff Probst rolls his shoulders, moaning against the couch. He closes his eyes and whispers, “Riza, go.”

At the sound of her name, Roy goes cold. He straightens up, watching his first lieutenant get up from her seat and walk across the floor in a high collared slitted dress that Roy is certain she wore specifically to torture him. She stops in front of him, brushing her fingertips against her exposed thigh holster.

“Colonel,” she says, boring her eyes into his.

“Lieutenant,” Roy replies. His tongue suddenly feels like cotton. He always assumed that when this moment came, he’d be as cool and collected as ever. But now that she’s standing right in front of him, he’s rendered speechless, crushed by the weight of both her betrayal and his.

“Greed,” Riza says, holding Roy’s gaze. “Tell me why you deserve my vote after you blindsided me.”

“Because he sure as fuck doesn’t,” Greed replies. He leans in. “I’ll have you know that when Lan Fan came to me with your elimination plan, she said the guy was shameless.” Greed’s face splits into a grin. “He knew you were planning to take him out for days and kept it all to himself. Just to take you out at the right moment. That’s how much you, his in-canon bodyguard, meant to him.”

Riza’s eyes narrow on Roy. “How did you know?”

“I know you better than I know myself,” Roy says, his veins hot and buzzing. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, but once I knew, that was it. I couldn’t take that kind of defeat. And you know that you wouldn’t have been able to either, had it been reversed.”

She laughs coldly. “You believe that?”

He stands up. Everyone in the tribal council hut goes still, watching his every move.

Roy takes a deep breath and takes her hand in his. Riza freezes.

“Lieutenant, please,” he says through a tight throat. “I can’t…I can’t afford to lose you.”

Roy looks over at the jury with glistening eyes. “What kind of madness is this? Scolded by a child.” He looks at Lan Fan, and then his gaze shifts to Olivier, “lectured by a woman who has been my enemy.”

“She didn’t lecture you,” Ed mutters. “She _roasted_ you.”

“And you.” Roy looks at Riza, and he’s overtaken by the loneliness he’s felt ever since her elimination. He squeezes her hand, so, so contrite. “When I blindsided you…I hurt you.” He grits his teeth. “How foolish can one man be?”

“This is so ridiculous,” Olivier says, massaging her throbbing temples.

Roy releases Riza’s hand and says, “Please forgive me.”

He sits down on the floor in front of her feet. Riza can only stare in sheer astonishment.

Jeff Probst shuts off his massage and sits up. His face twists in annoyance. “Get up!”

Roy keeps his head down, unable to look at his lieutenant. He starts to ask himself if any of this was worth it if she won’t forgive him. Maybe winning Survivor won’t mean anything without her to share it with.

“Okay,” Riza says. With that, she turns away and goes to sit down. Roy waits until she’s seated to get back up himself. He feels everyone’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t care. Let them judge him for pouring his soul into her hands. She deserves that much.

“Last but definitely not least,” says Jeff Probst, fixing his gaze anywhere but on the person he is about to call. “Fuhrer King Bradley.”

As the Fuhrer stands and begins his walk to the center of the hut, Greed’s last month at camp flashes in his mind like snap shots. Anger wells up inside of him, but only for a moment. Because once Wrath steps into his position as a juror while Greed sits before him as a contender for sole Survivor, he realizes that none of it matters. He _won_.

“Wrath,” says Greed with a toothy grin.

The Fuhrer looks down, though he is anything but daunted. “Long time no see, Greed. If you had any sense at all, you would have stayed out of my sight for good.”

“Yeah,” says Greed dismissively, “my avarice tends to make these decisions for me – the decision to compete on televised survival game.” He jumps to his feet and his black shield slips over his arms. Claws drawn, he says, “And right now, I want your _life_ , Wrath.”

Bradley looks up, squinting his one exposed eye.

“Whoa, _whoa_!” Jeff Probst stands up, palms up. “Time out. No one is taking any lives tonight. What do you think this is? Basic cable?”

“Shut up!” Greed yells, pointing at Jeff Probst with a sharpened claw. “I’ve got a grudge to settle with this self-righteous old bastard!”

“No, you don’t! This is tribal council and you will not do anything to get Survivor taken off the air!” Jeff Probst scolds. He takes Greed by the shoulder and shoves him back into his seat. While he’d been petrified a moment ago, his fear of losing his time slot on CBS is much more powerful. He glares at Bradley. “You two had better behave.”

“Fine!” Greed exclaims. “Whatever you say, Probst. Not like it matters.” He laces his fingers behind his head, cocking his eyebrows at Bradley. “So tell me, Wrath. How does it feel? How does it feel to know that I’ve won?”

Bradley says nothing, but keeps his eye trained on Greed. In that moment, Jeff Probst remembers where exactly he stands and how easily Bradley could carve him like a turkey if he wanted to. He scurries back to his massage chair and says, “Riza, if these two break out into a fight, I fully expect you to protect me with your alchemy.”

Riza throws her hands up. “I’m not an–”

“I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to be in this position,” Greed says, relishing every inch of Bradley’s glower. “You spent every goddamn day in that palace eating filet mignon, nursing African plants, and living the good life. But where did it land you?” He breaks out into maniacal laughter. “You’re nothing but another asshole on the jury. Another–”

“Greed, you’re exceeding the word count per player,” Jeff Probst says. He twirls a finger in the air. “Wrap this up.”

“Bullshit!” Greed exclaims. “The Lieutenant got a whole page to herself!”

“Riza is the fic author’s favorite character!” Jeff Probst hisses, then amends, “Well, second favorite next to me. You take what’s given to you, Greed.”

“I want _more_ than what’s given to me! That’s the whole point of my character! I am the physical manifestation of my old man’s avarice.”

“Fuhrer, sir,” Roy cuts in. He brings a hand to his heart. “I just wanted to say–”

“Hey!” Greed shouts at his competitor. “I wasn’t _finished_!” He gets back up, kicking his chair over. Jeff Probst goes tense against the back of his seat.

“I don’t care who you are!” Greed spits in Bradley’s face. “I don’t care how many immunity challenges you have under your belt. I want the fact that I beat you to keep you awake at night. I want you to suffer the way I’ve suffered every day since my arrival!”

“Mrergh,” Bradley says.

“Fuhrer Bradley,” says Roy, standing up and peeking around Greed’s shoulder. “If you still don’t know where to place your vote tonight–”

“I won, Wrath!” Greed laughs. “I beat you! I _won_!”

Bradley watches Greed revel in his defeat, and he can’t help but pity the homunculus. Without breaking eye contact, he says, “You want to know how I feel, Greed?”

Greed stops laughing. He stares at Bradley, suddenly speechless.

“There’s something rather comforting about facing the final jury vote like this, wouldn’t you agree?” He takes a step closer. Greed stays put, but his eyes follow Bradley’s carefully. “It’s all that matters. Nothing else even seems to exist outside my pure instinct to kill you where you stand. Challenge wins, allies, the tribe given to you, it’s all meaningless.”

A camera light positioned behind Bradley bursts suddenly. Heiderich shrieks. Everyone on the jury jumps in their seats.

“This is the only thing that’s real.” Sparks of light rain behind Bradley like a firework. “To vote on behalf of my own game and nothing else. I’ve never felt so complete.” He lets out a chuckle. “I guess you could say I’ve finally arrived.”

He turns away and walks back to his seat. Greed feels too strangled to retort. Instead he powerlessly sinks back into his chair.

“Okay,” says Jeff Probst with a tired sigh. “That was the longest tribal council _ever_.” He looks at Roy and Greed. “Now is when I’m contractually obligated to give you both closing statements.” He checks his watch. “You each have twenty seconds.” He lifts a finger, waiting, and then says, “And, Greed, go.”

Greed stares blankly at the jury. He shakes his head. “I really don’t have anything to say to you losers. Vote for me because the title is already mine.”

“Roy,” Jeff Probst says, not even allowing that the chance to marinate. “Now.”

In a single breath, he says, “It’s been a pleasure to play with you and and I hope that you can all believe me when I say I will remember the moments we spent together for the rest of my life I want nothing more than your votes as it would be an honor to carry the title of sole survivor if it’s given to me by you.”

“And for the final time this season,” says Jeff Probst, now facing the jury, “it is time to vote. Remember that you are voting for a _winner_ tonight.” He nods. “This is a million dollar–I mean, two million cen, decision.”

“How many cenz are in a dollar?” Havoc mumbles to Rebecca. “There’s no way that’s an accurate conversion.”

“Ed,” says Jeff Probst. “You’re the title character. It’s only right that you cast the first vote.”

Ed couldn’t agree more. He gets up and makes his way to the voting table. Carefully, as he is unable to write with his dominant hand, he prints a name.

 _Mustang_.

Ed smirks at the camera. “To be honest, I wish you could both lose. You’re a rotten player, Colonel. But I still hope you kick Greed’s ass.” He folds his vote in half and drops it into the pot. “Sorry, Ling. Guess you won’t be getting that trampoline after all.”

Riza follows, and after her it’s Major Armstrong’s turn. Lan Fan is the next to input her vote. She displays Greed’s name with pride.

“For the Yao Clan,” she says with a soft smile, “and for Xing.” She places it in the pot. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Fuhrer Bradley goes after her, writing his vote neatly on the parchment. He holds it up and says, “Thanks to the idiosyncrasies of reality television, it was, at least, a game worth playing. If only for this moment.” He folds it up, places it in a custom made envelope, and seals it with the finest Amestrian wax.

When he returns to his seat, Rebecca walks to the voting table. She writes Mustang’s name and shows it to the camera.

“You…remembered my name.” Rebecca folds her page in half, disgusted with herself despite it all. “Mustang, you don’t deserve this. But the homunculus deserves it less. That’s the only reason you’re getting my vote tonight.”

After Rebecca, Winry goes, followed by Havoc. The last to place their vote for the winner of Survivor is Olivier. Obviously, she votes for Greed and when she shows the name on camera, she says, “Homunculus, tonight you bury that worthless scum.”

She drops the vote into the pot and turns away fabulously, strutting back to her seat.

Jeff Probst nods and says, “I’ll tally the votes.”

When Jeff Probst is out of sight, Roy’s heart starts to pound. He scans the jury, hoping to meet the Lieutenant’s eyes, as she’s always been able to ease his anxiety. But she doesn’t look at him.

Greed, in contrast, looks bored. He carves a dolphin into the back of his chair with his shield claw. He then smiles upon the drawing’s completion.

When Jeff Probst returns, both competitors face him. Roy isn’t certain how he’ll be able to hear a thing over the blood that pulses in his ears.

Cradling the pot, the Survivor host says, “I will read the votes…” He opens the lid, then closes it again. “Next chapter! In _America_.”

Roy and Greed glimpse at one another, and then face Jeff Probst.

Roy asks, “What’s America?”

Over on the jury, Havoc groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Where even _are_ we right now?”

Heiderich lights up. He claps his hands. “Oh!” He tugs on Jeff Probst’s sleeve. “We get to ride an airplane?”

“Yes, Heiderich,” Jeff Probst says dully. “We get to ride an airplane.”

“What the fuck is an airplane?” Roy asks.

“I want one,” says Greed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, come on! I wasn’t going to reveal the winner just like that! Shoutout to tumblr user onehundredpercentnerd who I named Fuhrer Bradley’s transcriber after. 
> 
> SO IF YOU’VE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO READ THROUGH 9K WORDS OF UNFUNNY CRACKFIC, YOU’VE MADE IT DOWN HERE AND I APPLAUD YOU! Thank you for sticking it out! 
> 
> I may have gone overboard with *actual dialogue* but I just have way too much fun with those. XD
> 
> So, in true Survivor fashion, the end results will be read right before the reunion show in a Los Angeles studio with a live studio audience. Our 2D anime characters are in for the shock of their lives. It’ll be very stupid. As usual.
> 
> TUNE IN NEXT CHAPTER TO FIND OUT WHO WINS! And to see all the castaways who were voted out pre-merge because they will be back for the reunion. 
> 
> And once again, thank you guys a hundred million times over for reading and reblogging and sharing your thoughts in the tags and reblogs on tumblr and the ao3 comments. You have NO IDEA how much it lights up my entire day and lifts my mood. <3


	26. Finale (Part 2)

Jeff Probst braces his hands against the edge of his dressing room’s vanity. He stares at his reflection and says, “The winner of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ …” He shakes his head, then tries again, with new verve, “The _winner_ of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ –”

“Jeff Probst.”

The Survivor host looks to the doorway where Alfons Heiderich stands with a clipboard, elegantly dressed in pressed pants and a nice blazer provided for him by the network.

“Heiderich,” says Jeff Probst. He looks down at the vanity’s surface. “After this, you’re going back to your canon. Is that right?”

“Well, duh,” says Heiderich. “No offense, Jeff Probst, but you and the author have treated me horribly from my first introduction. I’d be an idiot if I stayed.”

He enters the room, setting his clipboard down on a table laden with the finest Swiss chocolate, two Edible Arrangements, and an assortment of Mardi Gras beads. Gifts from fans and CBS.

“Sir,” Heiderich says. “It’s almost time for the show to start. You have to read the winner. The readers of this fanfic had to sit through nine thousand words of melodramatic garbage last chapter. You _owe_ this to them.”

Jeff Probst closes his eyes. How could he have been such a fool? All this time, he’d been taking Heiderich for granted. Sure, all the _other_ crew members are expendable. Chimera!Tucker is a major creep. He can’t wait to be rid of _him_ forever. But…

“If you leave,” Jeff Probst says in a gravelly voice, “who is going to schedule all of my appointments?”

“Jeff Probst, you’re rich,” Heiderich says. “You could easily hire anyone for that.”

“But _who else_ knows the exact temperature I like my chestnut milk, Heiderich?” Jeff Probst asks. He pushes himself up off the vanity, turning to face him. “Who else is willing to rub my feet after a long afternoon of challenge officiating? Who else–”

“With all due respect,” says Heiderich, raising a hand to silence Jeff Probst, “working for you has been a nightmare of epic proportions. I’m underpaid, disrespected, made the butt of all this fanfic’s crappy jokes, and haven’t been allowed to have a life beyond our contract – which, by the way, I never actually signed.”

Jeff Probst looks at his assistant as if he’s never seen him before. How long has Heiderich bottled all of this up? The boy’s handsome features have twisted into something sour. For the first time, he isn’t the meek secondary character this fanfic has made him out to be.

“I’m sick of being walked all over,” Heiderich says, his voice raising. “Do you even know who I am? The fandom _loves_ me! I’m adorable!”

“Heiderich,” says Jeff Probst.

“My name is _Alfons_!” he shouts, all the stifled rage and tension of twenty plus chapters erupting at last. “And I am _not_ your lackey! I am a human being! I’m–”

“Jeff Probst, you’re on in five,” says a CBS employee who sticks their head in from the doorway.

But Jeff Probst is paying no mind to them. He stares at Heiderich, horrified. Who knew that all this time, the boy _didn’t_ see this opportunity as the honor that it clearly is. He shakes his head and murmurs, “I had no idea.”

“Now, I’m going to go out there tonight and smile,” Heiderich says harshly, “because I have an image of a cinnamon roll to uphold. But after this reunion show is through, so are we.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Jeff Probst admits. He swallows. Well, this was unexpected. How is he supposed to go out there and charismatically carry the chapter _now_? “Heiderich…I don’t take you for granted.” He shakes his head self-beratingly. “Well, maybe I did, but I don’t anymore.” His lower lip trembles as he fights back tears. “I’m sorry if I made you feel subservient.”

Heiderich crosses his arms, carefully watching him. “Do you mean that?”

Of course he doesn’t mean it, but he can’t fight with Heiderich on the single most important night of his life – well, most important for _this_ shitty season anyway. There are award show nominations riding on this.

Jeff Probst nods with false remorse. He looks up with a watery smile. “Heiderich, let’s do this. Together. One last chapter.”

“And then I’m free to leave?” Heiderich asks.

Begrudgingly, Jeff Probst affirms, “And then you’re free. But, Heiderich, consider–”

“No.”

Jeff Probst sighs. He glances over his shoulder, nodding at the CBS employee. “Let’s rock and roll.”

___

The tribal council hut has been recreated on a stage before a live studio audience. Two-dimensional loved ones of the final two and jury are incongruently among the live action strangers that CBS hired to make it look like people actually gave half a crap about this season.

Up on stage, Roy and Greed have both been allowed to shower and shave, looking dapper as ever in suits. Greed has spiced up his look with a dolphin button pinned to his lapel.

“We were in the air,” Roy says with disbelief, still feeling nauseous from the plane ride. As soon as they’d taken off, he’d screamed in terror, clutching Greed’s arm as if were a lifeline. Of course, he’d never admit to that.

“What a time to be alive,” Greed agrees, squinting through the harsh stage lights. He wonders which audience members are here for him. Not like he has any actual friends. At least not any who Wrath didn’t murder in cold blood.

The jury is seated on the opposite side of the stage, anticipating the big revelation. As always, Chimera!Tucker and Frank Archer man the studio cameras while the fake Elrics are on lights and sound.

Jeff Probst enters with his arms outstretched while Heiderich follows behind with the voting pot. Uproarious applause follows. Heiderich sets the votes on the podium positioned to the jury’s left as Jeff Probst steps behind it.

“Welcome!” Jeff Probst exclaims as the cheering quiets down. He smiles at Roy and Greed. “I will now read the votes.”

Roy clasps his hands together, suddenly very anxious. Greed takes a deep breath, thinking that no matter what happens tonight, he’s still better than everyone here.

“First vote,” says Jeff Probst as he removes the pot’s lid. He brings out the vote and reveals it to the audience. “Greed.”

The audience cheers. Greed grins smugly, brushing dust off his dolphin pin.

Jeff Probst pulls out the next vote. He turns it around. “Greed. That’s two votes Greed.”

More applause sounds through the room. Roy’s heart is beating out of his chest, but he keeps his cool, wringing out his sweaty hands.

“Next vote.” Jeff Probst shows it to the audience, and more cheers follow. “Mustang. That’s two Greed, one Roy.”

Roy releases the breath he’d been holding. He allows himself to smile. He’d been half-afraid he wouldn’t get a single vote, truth be told.

“Roy,” say Jeff Probst, showing the audience the next that reads _Colonel Mustang_. “We’re at a tie with two votes Roy, two votes Greed.”

Greed casts a bitter glimpse at Roy. If this title is taken from him by a scumbag like him, heads are going to roll.

“Roy,” says Jeff Probst, revealing the next. The audience responds enthusiastically. “We’re at three votes Roy, two votes Greed.”

 _Three votes_ , Roy thinks. His hands have begun to shake from the anticipation. _I need two more. Two more and I win_.

“Greed,” Jeff Probst reads. He smiles. “We are at yet another tie with three votes Roy, three votes Greed.”

Over on the jury bench, each person waits with bated breath. Ed and Winry reach for each others’ hands, though neither has any idea how the other chose to vote. It’s a tense moment for everyone. Olivier Armstrong appears impassive, but her blood is boiling for the three or more idiots who threw their votes away for Mustang. Riza presses her palms together, resting her lips on her joined fingertips, waiting.

“Colonel,” Jeff Probst reads. “Four votes Roy, three votes Greed.”

A shock courses through Roy. He knows that handwriting. It’s the _Lieutenant’s_. Heart hammering, he looks at her, dumbfounded. She voted for him? After everything he did, she _still_ voted for him?

Riza meets his eyes, her lip quirking into a half smile. She mouths, _Thick as thieves._

Roy’s own lips stretch into a grin. If they weren’t in the middle of a two million cen vote, he’d rush over there and kiss her on the spot, military fraternization laws be damned.

But he stays put, bouncing in his seat.

He has four votes. _Four_. He only needs one more to win.

“Greed,” Jeff Probst reads, and the audience’s applause is louder than it’s ever been. Things are getting intense. “That’s four votes Roy, and four votes Greed. One vote left.”

Jeff Probst fishes out the final vote. It’s sealed in a fancy envelope that could only belong to Fuhrer Bradley. Roy balls his hands into fists, unable to help how wide his smile is.

Greed rolls his eyes with disgust. Of course Wrath would turn _voting_ into an ostentatious production. Still, a bigger part of him is all nerves. No way _his_ is the one that this is riding on. Of course Greed wants to win Survivor, but he doesn’t want anything that Wrath gave him. He’s so conflicted, he isn’t certain whether to feel dread or hope.

Jeff Probst carefully undoes the wax seal and pulls out the vote. He reads it, pauses, and then says, “The winner of _Survivor: Not Amestris_.” He waits, basking in the silence that befalls the studio.

Everyone on the jury has gone completely still. Ed and Winry squeeze each other’s hands. Lan Fan holds her breath. Olivier fixes a leery gaze on the slip of paper in Jeff Probst’s hands. Bradley looks down with a wicked smile.

At last, Jeff Probst reveals it, and the applause practically blows the roof off this place. “Greed.”

The jury breaks out into enthusiastic applause. Roy exhales, nodding with acceptance. And Greed stares in abject horror.

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. When Roy holds his hand out for a friendly handshake (solely for the cameras as his happiness right now is nothing but a front), Greed swats him away and jumps to his feet. “ _NO_!”

Jeff Probst tosses the vote over his shoulder and Greed is swarmed by the members of the jury who all squeeze him into a group hug. Greed cranes his necks above their heads and gasps, “Wrath, you bastard!”

Bradley stays unmoved on the jury bench, laughing to himself.

“Congratulations, Greed,” says Bradley, grinning.

“THIS IS SICK, EVEN FOR YOU!” Greed yells.

On the outside of the group hug, Roy runs a hand through his hair. Dammit, he was _so close_. All of his scheming was ultimately for nothing. He became a pariah in the face of the readers with absolutely no pay-off. If he weren’t on camera right now, he’d set this studio on fire in his frustration.

But his thirst for vengeance leaves him at once when the Lieutenant breaks away from the hug and steps in front of him.

Roy straightens up, gulping. “Hawkeye.”

“The readers won’t be happy with me,” she says. “And, in truth, I almost didn’t do it.” She smiles warmly, or as warm as Hawkeye actually smiles in public. “I guess I chose to believe you.”

“I meant every word,” he says.

Riza nods her head. “I fucking hope so, sir. Otherwise, I’ll look like an idiot.” She glares at him, jabbing his chest with her forefinger. “So you’d better behave while we’re on camera and really sell your remorse.”

As Greed continues to wail in anguish, Jeff Probst steps in front of the crowd. All the castaways voted out pre-merge come filtering in for the reunion show.

“Congratulations to Greed for being the winner of the world’s shittiest crackfic competition!” Jeff Probst exclaims. “Keep reading for the live reunion show, up next!”

* * *

**Votes:  
** _Ed: Roy Mustang_  
Winry: Greed  
Riza: Roy Mustang  
Rebecca: Roy Mustang  
Havoc: Greed  
Bradley: Greed  
Armstrong: Roy Mustang  
Olivier: Greed  
Lan Fan: Greed

* * *

##  **_// REUNION SHOW//_ **

All sixteen players are seated on fancy bleachers brought on stage by the network. Greed and Roy both sit toward the front, the winner between delighted and seething. To be handed the title by the person he wanted to stick it to the most is insulting.

Still, he did win Survivor. And he’s now two million cenz richer. The prince kid damn near jumped out of his body from the excitement. He’s getting himself a trampoline. And Greed? Well, Greed is going to have the world, of course.

Father may have harnessed the power of God, but does he get to say he’s the _Sole Survivor_? Greed finally has something over his self-righteous ass.

“I won,” Greed finally says. His shoulders shake from laughter. He throws his head back and yells, “I WON! The title, the money, the recognition, it’s _mine_!”

“Yes,” says Jeff Probst as a stagehand quickly powders his nose. Jeff Probst dismisses them with a wave of his hand. They scurry off. “Congratulations.”

Greed takes Lan Fan by the arm, giving her a shake. She jumps from alarm. “I won, Lan Fan!” He turns to his other side, “Carlos, I…” His face falls.

Carlos isn’t here.

Carlos is back on the island.

Greed touches his dolphin pin, a soft smile playing on his lips. His friend would be proud of him. He won this for the both of them.

“Wait a minute,” says Ed who sits between Winry and Izumi. By now, his automail has been fully restored. He scans the crowd. “Where the hell is Al?”

Jeff Probst’s eyebrows raise. “That’s funny. He was here when we took roll.” He ponderously taps his chin. “You think he’s still in hair and makeup?”

“He’s a suit of armor,” Winry says flatly.

“Right.” Jeff Probst pounds his fist against his palm. “He’s a suit of armor. Uhh….” He looks over to Heiderich. “You see Alphonse Elric anywhe–”

“No,” Heiderich says quickly.

Jeff Probst narrows his eyes. “Heiderich.”

“I haven’t seen him!” Heiderich insists. He crosses his arms. “Maybe he just doesn’t care about Edward as much as everyone _thought_ he did.”

* * *

##  _**// Several Hours Earlier //** _

The pieces of Alphonse’s disassembled metal body are unceremoniously tossed into a dark janitorial closet. Al’s soulfire eyes fix on Heiderich who grips the doorjamb fiercely, staring at him with an odd mixture of crazed hunger and vacancy.

“Who the hell are you!?” Al demands.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” says Heiderich. He comes over and picks Al’s head up off the floor. “You’ll stay right here, Alphonse Elric. Where no one can hear you scream.”

“What?” Al questions, and suddenly his head is dropped into a pillow case. He screams, and Heiderich is confused as to why it isn’t muffled. That’s when he notices the bloodseal painted onto his armored torso.

“Dammit,” Heiderich mutters under his breath. “Not even the Hefty bags are big enough for that.”

“Let me go!” Al shouts in a panic. “A-and, put my body back together right now, you imposter!”

Heiderich’s hand flies to his chest. “Imposter?” He shakes his head. “Oh, no. _I’m_ not the imposter here, Alphonse Elric.”

“My brother won’t let you get away with this!” Al yells. “He’ll notice that I’m gone!”

Heiderich laughs viciously. “Believe me, he won’t. And soon, he’ll realize that he never needed you at all.” He steps out of the room. “Goodbye, Alphonse Elric.” He slams the door shut.

* * *

##  **_// Present //_ **

“This is weird,” Ed says. He gets up. “I’m gonna go look for him.”

“No!” Heiderich yells. And Ed stops short. He stares at him.

“No?” Ed laughs incredulously. “He’s my little brother. I can’t just sit here and film a reunion show while he’s god knows where!”

“Sure you can,” Heiderich says with a nervous chuckle. He averts his eyes. “See, I spoke to him earlier and he said he was going to, um, Disneyland.”

Ed looks at him carefully. “Heiderich,” he says slowly. “You just said you hadn’t seen Al…”

Heiderich swallows. He glances between Ed and the door, wondering how quickly he can grab Ed and make a break for it. Because this season was so low budget, there’s no security to hold him back.

“You stay here, Edward,” says Izumi, taking his shoulder and gently guiding him back to his seat. “I’ll find Alphonse.”

“But, Teacher,” Ed says with a frown. He’d wanted her to stay _here_. It’s been so long since he’s had an actual responsible adult anywhere near him. It felt kind of nice to be cared about again.

“I won’t be long,” she assures him, and she climbs off the bleachers and exits. Ed sighs, then shoots a glare at Heiderich.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“I’m going to the restroom,” says Heiderich, bolting for the door. Ed starts to call out to him until he’s silenced by a CBS crew member who signals Jeff Probst that the cameras have started rolling.

“Welcome to our reunion show!” he says cheerfully. He looks over at the castaways. “I’ll be honest, the ratings for this season were absolutely dreadful, but even so, I’m pleased to introduce the winner of _Survivor: Not Amestris_ , Greed.”

The camera pans to Greed who waves with both hands, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“That’s right,” he says. “The title is mine.”

“How are you feeling right now, Greed?” Jeff Probst asks. He doesn’t actually care, but he’s gotta kick this reunion show off somehow. “I mean, you were the only castaway to never have their name written down for elimination.”

“Yeah,” Greed replies, “I mean, everyone here _knew_ this game was mine. Only a moron would think to vote me out.”

Roy fights the strong urge throttle him. Seriously, he lost to _him_? How telling. He tries convincing himself that this doesn’t actually matter since nothing in this fic is canon, but man is it hard.

“So,” Jeff Probst says. “There’s certainly a lot to talk about. But what I want to start with is Roy. From the very first tribal council, you were on the chopping block. How did you manage to make it to the finals?”

Roy smiles good naturedly once he’s caught on camera. He’s still in the public eye and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t put on a good face, even if he does have to swallow his bitterness.

“Well, Jeff Probst,” says Roy, “At the end of the day, I treated this like the game it was. I knew I needed to be more than likable and more than physically fit. There’s a psychological component to this that I was always keenly aware of.”

Roy realizes then that Jeff Probst isn’t paying any attention to him, but is instead blowing kisses at the audience. Two rows behind him, Scar scowls.

“There is a reunion show to host, you abomination!” Scar barks.

Jeff Probst flinches, cowering at the sound of his voice. For weeks after Scar’s disqualification, the Survivor host would wake up in a cold sweat every night. His arm of deconstruction plagued his every nightmare.

Of course, in the dream, Scar wouldn’t grab Jeff Probst’s perfect face as he did in the actual challenge. Instead, he’d destroy his 2001 copy of _People_ , wherein Jeff Probst was named one of the Top 50 Most Beautiful People – his prized possession.

Jeff Probst’s heart beats out of his chest. He’d truly done everything in his power to ensure Scar and Kimblee wouldn’t be seated anywhere near him. In fact, the latter sits on the top left corner of the bleachers that stand adjacent to his chair. His wrists are separated by a wooden trap, to avoid the possibility of him causing any in-studio explosions.

“B-Bradley,” Jeff Probst stammers. He takes a deep breath. Tonight is _his_ night. He cannot forget that. “You and Greed’s rivalry was one of the most intense of the season. What made you give him the title after all that?”

Bradley smiles, but it’s the malevolent kind of smile you’d expect from a predator about to rip into its prey with its teeth.

“Because I know my brother,” Bradley says. “A victory handed to him by someone like me is meaningless. I knew if my vote were to decide his fate, it would keep him up at night.”

“You’re _no_ brother of mine!” Greed shouts, jumping on top of his bleacher. “You geezer son of a–”

“And, cut to commercial!” Jeff Probst exclaims hastily. When the cameras stop rolling, he gives Greed a withering look.

“I will not have any FCC rules violated tonight,” Jeff Probst growls. A stage hand rushes on stage with a frozen drink. They hold it to Jeff Probst’s lips and he takes a sip. He jerks his head and they run off, then he redirects his attention to the castaways. “You’re all here to make _me_ look good. Understand?”

The reunion show is back on screen with a never before seen clip of Kimblee crouched on the ground, grinning as two lizards fight to the death. Olivier comes up from behind him, glimpses down, and then leaves him to his ways, muttering expletive insults under her breath.

When the show returns, Jeff Probst says, “I think it’s time to give out our first award.”

“Uh…award?” Havoc asks, tilting his head.

“The viewers have voted,” Jeff Probst says. He chuckles. “Which really doesn’t make an ounce of sense since we could only afford a 2:00AM time slot.”

Greed’s ears perk up at the word _award_. Does this mean he’ll leave this show with even more stuff?

“The first,” Jeff Probst announces, “is Most Badass Player On The Island.” They all direct their attention to a screen off to the side of the stage that begins to play clips of each nominee.

“Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong,” Jeff Probst announces over various shots of her throwing herself to the ground in challenges, crushing Roy’s hand, glaring intimidatingly into nothing while her hair curls out from behind her.

“Fuhrer Bradley!” His montage is comprised of him sprinting up and down the shore, dominating the challenges, and riding an alligator across his moat.

“Lan Fan,” Jeff Probst says, winking at her from his position. He secretly hopes she wins. And it does look quite possible with her compilation video. She’s shown performing acrobatics in challenges, both with and without her automail. Additionally, there are clips of her scheming by Bradley’s moat and weaving tarps.

Begrudgingly, Jeff Probst says, “Scar.” The little available footage of him begins to play. It includes him swimming underwater during his final challenge, diving across the net trampoline with a war cry, and efficiently building the Red Tribe’s shelter. Jeff Probst is thankful his challenge outburst was omitted.

And lastly, Jeff Probst says, “Izumi.” She’s seen laughing, hunting, and strategizing during her time on the Yellow Tribe. The clip ends with her on the puzzle table during the second challenge, looking deeply concentrated.

When the clips end, Greed looks around as if he’s missed something. His eyes land on Jeff Probst. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“No,” Jeff Probst says. He stops to ponder. “Well, maybe Riza, but she broke the rules and–”

“Okay, that’s crap,” Riza cuts in. She points at Scar. “ _He_ actually used alchemy on screen!”

“So you admit to using alchemy _off_ screen,” Ed mumbles. He cocks his eyebrows. “Interesting.”

Riza sighs, dropping her head. She mumbles, “I give up.”

Roy reaches behind him to pat her knee. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. You’re still a winner in my book. Even if you are a dirty cheater.”

“The winner is Fuhrer Bradley,” Jeff Probst says. “But unfortunately, the award budget was used on my hair gel, so, you don’t have anything to show for it.”

Bradley looks over at Greed, who is close to foaming at the mouth from his rage. He calmly flattens his hands against his lap, opting not to lose his temper.

Carlos never liked it when he lost his temper.

“The next award is way more fun,” says Jeff Probst, “and it’s Second Most Beautiful Person On The Island.” He flashes a toothy smile. “Because the first is me.”

“The Lieutenant wins,” Roy says immediately. Riza blushes, her eyes going wide.

“Actually, Colonel, _you_ win,” says Jeff Probst. He reads off the nominees. “Winry, Ed, both Armstrongs, and you. Congratulations.”

“Oh,” says Roy. He settles back smugly. “Well, I can live with that.”

“If the world we live in is one where Roy Mustang is voted the most beautiful of anything,” Olivier mutters hotly, “Perhaps we should allow Father to eradicate the human race.”

“Most beautiful man on the island, eh?” Roy bats his eyelashes at her, holding two hands to his heart. “Olivier, does this mean you’ll finally accept my dinner invitation?”

Olivier looks away. “Make eye contact with me again and I’ll rip your balls off.”

“And on that note, we’ll be right back!” Jeff Probst announces. When the show cuts to commercial, he gets up and rolls his shoulders back.

“Where the hell is Heiderich?” he asks. “He’s supposed to bring me my tea.”

“This reunion show blows,” says Ed.

“How have I not won an award yet?” Greed demands.

May swings her short legs back and forth, folding her hands atop her lap. She hadn’t wanted to come to this reunion show at all after the way her tribe betrayed her. But Xiao May had begged, insisting she’s always wanted to be on TV. May reaches up to pet the tiny panda that rests on her shoulder.

“I hope you’re happy,” she mumbles.

Xiao May beams.

Kimblee kicks his feet up, resting them on the bleacher in front of him, which so happens to be where Havoc is seated. He yelps, falling out of his seat.

“I’m bored,” Kimblee says, staring at his tattooed palms. “This show could use more pyrotechnics.”

Havoc pulls himself back on the bleacher with an irked grumble. He looks to his right where Rebecca gazes disinterestedly at the audience. She’s able to make out some familiar faces, like Father, assorted homunculi, most of Team Mustang, and Pinako Rockbell. Hohenheim sits by himself in a corner, wiping proud fatherly tears off his cheeks.

“Trisha would be so proud of our Edward,” he says, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. “Making it to the final three in a reality television game.”

“Can we go home now?” Envy whines.

“No,” says Father. “We are here to support your brothers.”

“So tired,” Sloth moans. He leans his head on Envy’s shoulder and sighs, “Being live studio audience…such a pain.”

“Can I eat Jeff Probst?” Gluttony asks, sucking on his finger.

Father rubs his temples. If only Lust were still alive. She’d be better behaved. He glances over at Pride, sitting on Mrs. Bradley’s lap because otherwise he’d be too small to see over Captain Buccaneer who is planted in the row directly in front of him.

“Yeah, General!” he shouts. Miles fist pumps and hoots from beside him. Falman meekly sinks into his seat. He wishes he were sitting with his friends from Mustang’s unit who look like they’re having the time of their lives.

Fuery holds Hayate, nudging the small shiba as he whispers, “Look, little guy! Your master is on TV!”

Breda blows obnoxiously into a vuvuzela and then yells, “You go, Colonel!”

Fu sits toward the front, completely impassive. But his heart swells with pride for both the young lord and his granddaughter.

“And we’re back,” says Jeff Probst, sliding into his seat. He looks at the castaways who just want this chapter to come to its merciful end. “So, we have some more awards to give out but–”

A high pitched shriek is heard from a distance. Everyone looks to the studio entrance where Izumi Curtis drags Heiderich across the floor by the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry!” he screams, wiggling around. “I’m– _oof_!”

Izumi lets him fall against the floor. She points at him and announces, “This boy disassembled Al and left him in a supply closet!”

“Janitorial closet,” Heiderich corrects, rubbing his aching lower back with a wince. “Which really isn’t that bad considering he doesn’t have a nose to inhale the bleach with.”

A series of _clanks_ echoes through the studio as Al runs inside. He stops next to the fallen boy and shouts, “If Teacher hadn’t found me, I may have been left in that closet for _years_!”

“Hardly,” Heiderich replies bitterly. “That armor would have rejected your soul _way_ sooner than that.”

Al gasps. He stomps over to Jeff Probst and asks, “Aren’t you going to do something?”

“Do what?” Jeff Probst asks, as he’s spent the past few paragraphs smiling at the cameras, not paying attention to the goings on at all. He blinks. “Oh! Alphonse! You made it.”

“Al!” Ed yells, shoving past castaways to climb down the bleachers. He throws his arms around the suit of armor, tears prickling his eyes.

“Brother,” says Al, returning the hug. “I’m really proud of you for making the final three. I know Mom would have been proud of you too.”

“I did it for you,” Ed says, closing his eyes. He pulls away, gazing curiously at him. “Say, Al, do you know how to make paella?”

Al stops and quizically stares at him. “Um…”

This reunion is so touching that half the audience begins to weep. Major Armstrong is no exception, waterfalls of tears gushing from his eyes. From the crowd, Hohenheim is an absolute wreck. He swings his handkerchief over his head, whimpering, “Those are my sons!”  

But Heiderich sees red. How _dare_ this lesser character try and take his brother from him? How–

“Heiderich,” Jeff Probst says, signaling for the boy. “If you would please grab me a cup of tea.”

“I’m not your slave!” Heiderich yells.

“You’re still my assistant for at least another thousand words,” Jeff Probst says. He points to the door. “Tea.”

Heiderich sighs and drags his feet to the door. “Yeah, fine.”

“The next award,” Jeff Probst says, “Best Blindside. The nominees are what we’ve taken the liberty of calling: Fuhrer Bradley’s Immunity Idol, Riza Gets Owned, Greed’s One Lie, The Rise And Fall of Jean Havoc, and Goodbye May Chang.”

“Winry’s blindside was snubbed,” Ed says as he, Al, and Izumi squeeze in between Winry and Riza.

Greed sits up straighter. “I won, right?”

“No,” says Jeff Probst. “Roy’s betrayal was way more poignant.”

“Dammit!” Greed yells, clenching his fists.

“Calm down,” says Roy, rolling his eyes. “You _won_ Survivor.”

“I want more,” Greed mumbles to himself, crossing his arms. “I’m Greed the Avaricious. I want everything.”

“Speaking of wanting things,” says Jeff Probst, gesturing offstage with his hand. Hohenheim of Light and Dante scurry behind the bleachers to grab something from out of frame. “Greed, I have a surprise for you.”

Greed straightens up. “A…surprise?”

“That’s right!” Jeff Probst says as the Dante and Hohenheim of Light wheel in a massive covered object. They set it in the center of the stage. When Dante removes the cover, it’s revealed to be a tank with what looks a dolphin inside.

Greed falls out of his seat.

“That’s right,” says Jeff Probst. “Greed, I believe you and Carlos have–”

“What did you _do_ to him!?” Greed yells. He runs over to the tank, pressing his face to it. “Carlos can’t be in captivity! He needs to be…” Greed squints. “Wait a minute.”

The jury members who knew Carlos all stare in shock. Lan Fan shivers, looking anywhere but its freaky blank eyes. She would never admit it out loud, but she had been relieved to be free of Carlos for good.

Greed turns around and stomps his foot. “That is _not_ Carlos!”

Lan Fan sighs with relief. Crisis averted.

“What are you talking about? Of course it is,” says Jeff Probst. In reality, he knows it isn’t. There are laws against putting dolphins in tanks like this. Besides, how the hell would he _ever_ find the real Carlos again? He’d borrowed an animatronic dolphin from Disneyland. He thought it looked pretty realistic.

“This dolphin is several shades bluer than Carlos,” Greed says. “And Carlos _always_ whistles when he greets me. This piss-ant just… _floated_ there.”

Ed examines it from where he sits and says, “Pretty sure that dolphin is fake.”

“It’s not fake!” Jeff Probst protests.

“It’s about as real as my leg,” Ed snorts.

“You know, I think now is a good segue to the preview for next season,” says Jeff Probst as Dante and Hohenheim of Light hurriedly remove the tank from the stage.

“Next season?” Ed asks. “You mean there’s _more_ of this crap?”

“Well, it’s customary for every reunion show to have a preview of next season,” says Jeff Probst. He points at the screen positioned to the side of the stage. “ROLL IT!”

* * *

“ _Hello_ ,” says Jeff Probst’s voice over aesthetic shots of an island. _“You probably know who I am. Jeff Probst. Author, filmmaker, charismatic television personality. Well, I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about the upcoming season of_ Survivor _._

 _While this last season was an absolute disaster, our team here at CBS has confidence that we can outdo ourselves with an even bigger disaster. And so, we bring you something truly special_.

The camera pans out to reveal two tribes of really beautifully drawn anime characters. In the center of one, there is a petite blond girl, holding a long stick the way she might a sword. She sets its tip on the shoulder of Jeff Probst and says, “Are you worthy…to be my host?”

The next shot hurls the audience into the center of an immunity challenge transpiring in the pouring rain. A boy with bright orange hair points at a taller man who looks quite similar to him apart from his tan skin and white hair. He shouts, “Just because you’re correct, doesn’t mean you’re right!”

“That doesn’t make _any_ sense, Emiya!” yells a vicious-looking girl with long brown hair. “Now _crush him_ like I know you can!”

The girl, Rin, pushes Shirou Emiya but he loses his balance and hits the muddy ground. His surrogate father, Kiritsugu, hoists him up by his collar. He shoves Shirou forward and shouts, “Get up, Shirou! We can’t lose immunity to them!”

From the other tribe, a massive grayish brown humanoid thing beats its chest and roars. The blond girl from earlier, Saber, yells, “BERSERKER, NO!”

Berserker trips over a rock and falls atop a frail white-haired man in a hoodie. Rin shrieks beside him.

“Uncle Kariya!”

Berserker moans.

“ _That’s right_ ,” Jeff Probst’s voice says as the scene switches to camp. “ _A new anime. New tribes. And new drama._ ”

A blond guy sits atop a throne made of sand, completely naked. He crosses his legs and laughs maniacally.

“Gilgamesh,” Saber growls, clenching her fists. “Get down here and help us set up camp.”

“This camp is my garden!” Gilgamesh says, laughing with delight. “And gardens are made by slaves.”

Saber turns around, seething in rage. A muscular red-haired man pats her head and smiles at Gilgamesh.

“King of Heroes!” he calls out. “Let us bond by building camp!”

“Not now, Iskander,” Saber mutters, and then a spear flies by their heads. She jumps back, poising her sword-stick for attack.

Gilgamesh is illuminated by the gold light of the Gate of Babylon, producing weapons out of a sparkling portal.

From off-screen, one of the Lancers yells, “Hey! No using your Noble Phantasm! That’s against the rules.”

Gilgamesh throws his head back with a laugh. “Rules? I _am_ the rules! _Mongrel_!”

“ _You love the Fullmetal Alchemist universe_ ,” Jeff Probst says _, “Well, now we’ve gathered characters from both Fate/Zero and Fate/Stay Night, completely ignoring the fact that there’s a ten year difference between the two series_.”

The next scene is tribal council. Rin Tohsaka crosses her arms and mutters, “Maybe if Kirei stopped trying to murder everyone on camp, we might act cohesively enough to win immunity.”

Everyone murmurs in agreement. Kirei Kotomine looks down with a sadistic smile. Jeff Probst flattens himself against the wall of the tribal council hut, paralyzed with fear.

“We need to take this seriously,” says Shirou Emiya. He pounds his fists against his legs. “People _leave_ if they’re eliminated!”

Kiritsugu sighs, burying his face in his palm.

“ _So join us next season_ ,” says Jeff Probst _, “Where the greatest heroes from history, plus Archer, take on the most talented mages to ever live in_ Survivor: Masters versus Servants.”

* * *

The FMA characters stare in utter confusion. Ed looks at Winry and asks, “Okay, did you understand any part of what we just saw?”

“Not a thing,” she says. “And neither will half this fic’s readers. What was the author _thinking_?”

“Oh my god, I want that guy’s gold portal thing,” Greed breathes.

“That’s our show!” Jeff Probst exclaims. He gets up, just as Heiderich thrusts a cup of tea into his hands. He takes a sip and says, “Thank you all for watching! It’s been an awful season and it wouldn’t have been what it was without all of you. Once again, I am Jeff Probst! Goodnight!”

“This was the shittiest reunion show ever,” Roy mutters.

Greed stands up and points at the camera. He exclaims, “Thank you and goodbye, my friends!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, that, my friends, is it! 
> 
> So, first, I’d like to say that I am not actually going to write that Fate Survivor AU, so worry not. haha. (It’s meant to parody the “Survivor: This versus That” seasons). 
> 
> So Greed won! A lot has changed from what I’d initially planned this fic to be. The elimination order was very different. Certain characters having certain arcs were very unexpected. But since this is crackfic, I kind of wrote it as it was the most fun for me and didn’t worry much about anything else. Of course, certain things, and the downfall of certain characters remained at least somewhat consistent. 
> 
> I will say that from the very beginning, I knew Greed was going to make the final two. :D
> 
> This fic has been an unbelievable about of fun to write. It’s nonsensical and messy and the writing is lazy and deplorable, but it was an odd form of stress relief I’ve been able to come back to throughout the year. And 100% of the reason it was so fun was because I was excited about what you guys would say about each chapter.
> 
> I literally do not even have words. Thank you guys so so so so SOOOO much for everything. For what you’ve write in the tags of reblog, on Ao3, or have sent to my ask. sdkjghsjhgskhjgs. You have no idea how much I’ve smiled and laughed while hearing your thoughts chapter to chapter. #AnyoneButRoy2k16 is my actual life blood. 
> 
> I would have never been so motivated to complete this and give it all the silliness I could muster if not for you so thank you so much. 
> 
> It feels oddly emotional to say goodbye to it, despite the fact that it might be one of the most awful things I’ve ever written, if just for how much time and fun has gone into it. And how much I’ve laughed as a result of everyone’s thoughts. 
> 
> Also a super super SUPER special and important thank you to the wickedly talented users who have created/drawn hilarious and beautiful things for this fic. I’m hugging you guys so unbelievably hard. Honestly, thank you so much ;___; (Their URLS and links to said drawings here: http://the-musical-alchemist.tumblr.com/post/149437147244/) 
> 
> And, obligatorily, a thanks to my brother who was a huge part of this as a lot of the ideas of this fic were a result of him and I driving to work in the morning, bouncing off dumb ideas. He’s a nerd and he’s brilliant and I love him but also hate him.
> 
> Nothing but love to the characters I’ve relentlessly picked on. (Especially Heiderich. Poor angel. I love him, I swear XDD). Thank you guys for being so cool with it all. And for totally just going with the fact that this fic had, like, no continuity, structure, or quality whatsoever.
> 
> And thank you guys for reading!
> 
> And, of course, if you have any questions at all about the fic, ask box is open! (The-musical-alchemist on Tumblr)
> 
> I really hope you’ve enjoyed it. <3


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